


A Predictable Kris Kringle Story (or how the Sorting Hat was a brilliant match-maker)

by CasablancaInTheTardis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Drarry, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasablancaInTheTardis/pseuds/CasablancaInTheTardis
Summary: The Sorting Hat is responsible for a Hogwarts Kris Kringle (secret Santa) which leads to Harry and Draco sorting out their feelings and inevitably being adorable together (after some angst, of course). Merry Christmas!





	1. December 1st

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter starts a bit slow and gloomy, but hang in there - it gets better!

Students had been back at the school for three months following the clean up after the Battle of Hogwarts, and were already itching for something to take their minds off what was different. They couldn't help but notice bits of wall that were crumbling, the odd blast mark here and there, or the absent friends which left gaps at the house tables in the Great Hall. Needless to say, they were ready for, and in need of, a bit of Christmas cheer.

When Harry, Ron and Hermione woke up on the morning of the first of December, they were unsurprised to find the castle already completely covered in sprigs of holly, flashes of tinsel, and other yuletide decorations.

"That'll be Professor Sprout's idea," Ron commented, as they left the eighth year common room and made their way to the Great Hall. "She's mad for all this Christmas stuff."

"I reckon McGonagall would've had something to do with it. What with her being Headmistress and all," Harry replied. He had not slept well and was a bit irritable - too many dreams about house elves and cutlery.

"Yeah, but Sprout's the one who's been wearing mistletoe in her hat since October," said Ron, oblivious to Harry's prickliness.

"Well, whoever wanted to make it look like the inside of a department store has done a good job of it, and just in time, too. Everyone around here could use something to look forward to," Hermione said.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. He didn't disagree with Hermione, but there were some things that even Christmas at Hogwarts couldn't fix. Here they all were, back at school where they belonged. They were studying for their NEWTs, taking trips to Hogsmeade, playing Quidditch on weekends on the new field... but to Harry, it all felt a bit fake. He was different to the person he'd been before defeating Voldemort, before so many people had died for him. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for his life, but it all seemed rather anti-climactic. Now what was he supposed to do? Study, become an auror, marry Ginny and replace the son Molly had lost? None of that sat well with Harry, and he was starting to wonder if Hogwarts was even the right place for him anymore.

"C'mon, Harry," Ron said, noticing Harry's distant look and giving his friend a shove in the right direction. "Breakfast time."

Moments after the golden trio had left the common room, Draco Malfoy descended the staircase from his dormitory (shared with Goyle and Blaise) and made his way to the Great Hall alone.

This was how things had been since his trial and subsequent acquittal – people left him to his own devices and tended to act as though he didn't exist. Draco did not have a problem with this. The sooner he could get his NEWTs, the sooner he could secure a reputable job and move away – maybe Paris or somewhere further afield, like Morocco or Singapore – and finally he could begin again.

He noted, dully, the decorations that adorned the common room, wishing he could embrace the Christmas cheer. He had always been one of those children who loved this time of year and would start putting up tinsel and baubles in November, not to mention playing carols as early as September. Of course, things had changed when he'd come to Hogwarts – he had an image to present to the world – but when he went home to Malfoy Manor, things had always been perfectly ostentatious. That was until the Dark Lord had moved into his home and sucked pretty much all of the joy out of life. Now all thoughts of Christmas were lessened somehow.

This year, with his father back in Azkaban and his mother in St Mungo's (for psychological treatment that he did not like to think about), he would be staying at Hogwarts, trying not to get punched or jeered at or noticed at all, really. It was quite pathetic, if he thought about it, so Draco resolved not to. Instead, he would go down to breakfast like everyone else and pretend that things were normal.

"Could I have your attention, please," McGonagall's voice rang out across the Great Hall. Students turned in their seats to look at the witch. Ron did so with half a sausage hanging out of his mouth.

"Thank you," the Headmistress began. "Now, as some of you may know, earlier this year the Sorting Hat decided that the house system was divisive and damaging to school morale and, as such, has retired from this duty."

A murmur ran around the hall. Students had noticed this quirk in the year's welcome feast, and students had since been reshuffled into year groups, as opposed to house groups. But why McGonagall was bringing this up now was a mystery.

"To my mind, this was a step in the right direction," she continued. "We must all strive towards greater unity and friendship. However, the Sorting Hat now rather feels as though he has no role within the school and has asked me to find sufficient employment. To that end, I would like to announce the beginning of Hogwarts' Annual Kris Kringle as directed by the Sorting Hat."

Several students clapped, some laughed and some simply looked confused.

"What's a Kris Kringle?" a fourth year whispered to her friend.

"Allow me to explain," McGonagall said, “any student remaining at Hogwarts over the Christmas period will have their name entered into the hat. They will draw out a name from the hat and then purchase or make a present for that person. In the interests of inter-house or, now I suppose, inter-year cooperation, the Hat has decided to match up names without the need for scraps of parchment and ink. At any point today, you may visit the Sorting Hat – which will remain here in the Great Hall – place him atop your head, and you will hear the name of the person you are to procure a present for. This is a non-negotiable arrangement. If you are staying at the castle, this is mandatory. Anyone who has a problem with celebrating the holiday season and the spirit of togetherness is encouraged to see me directly."

There was a slightly awkward silence following her declaration.

"Good! Then off to class you go," she said, ending the instructional part of the morning.

Harry groaned inwardly. Did McGonagall really think that a couple of presents were all it would take to make people forgive and forget? As if reading Harry’s internal monologue, Hermione spoke up, “Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea. What better way to promote getting to know different people than by a random gift-giving party?”

“Do you really think it’ll be random, though? With the Sorting Hat? It’s probably designed to teach us something about ourselves and others,” Ron said, swallowing the remains of his sausage.

“Hmm, yes, good point. I wonder how it knows who will be here and who won’t, though.”

“It’s the Sorting Hat, isn’t it? It just knows,” Ron replied.

“I bet you a galleon we all get Slytherins,” Harry said, scowling.

“It’s not that bad, mate. You might get that fit one, what’s her name-” Ron began, before catching Hermione’s eye.

“Knowing my luck, I’ll probably get Malfoy, the git,” Harry said.

Draco, who had been walking past the trio – unnoticed as usual – simply rolled his eyes and prayed to whatever gods existed that he didn’t get stuck with Potter as his KK. After all, what do you give the man who took everything away from you, he thought bitterly. However, he was lucky enough to be told that his gift-recipient would be the batty Luna Lovegood. He could probably stick joggle eyes on a turnip and tell her it was a blibbering humdinger, and she’d be over the moon. He smirked as he made his way back to the dormitory. Yes, that’s what he’d do.

***

By lunchtime, Harry had shaken off his bad mood enough that he felt ready to be assigned a KK partner. Ron and Hermione had disappeared somewhere together, as they frequently tended to do these days, so Harry approached the Sorting Hat alone.

After making sure no one else was waiting, Harry sat on the three-legged stool and, feeling more than a little foolish, placed the ancient hat on his head. It was still big enough that it slid down slightly, to partially cover his eyes, so Harry shut them and tried to listen carefully to what the hat would say.

“Hmm, not very happy at the moment, are we?” mused the Hat.

_Well, no, of course not, Harry thought grumpily, why would I be?_

“You have your life, your friends, your future,” the Hat said, “why shouldn’t you be.”

_I don't want to think about it. I just want to know who I have for this stupid KK._

“You’re not going to like it…”

Harry was certain he could feel the hat smiling, and he knew what was coming next. _No, not him. Anyone but-_

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Fuck.”


	2. December 2nd

Of course Draco Malfoy would be Harry Potter’s KK. Why not? After everything else Harry had been through in the past twelve months, why not add another layer of misery on top?

Ok, so Harry was feeling quite sorry for himself. Also quite annoyed and generally disenchanted with how his return to Hogwarts had gone so far. He wasn’t exactly excelling in his classes and now he had this Malfoy-present nonsense to deal with as well.

But, after a stern talking to from Hermione (along the lines of ‘everyone is going through hard times, Harry, but you need to make an effort’) Harry had made the decision to just suck it up and get on with things. After all, he’d managed to defeat Voldemort – what was one little Christmas present?

What he needed was a battle plan. He started by asking Ron what to get Malfoy

“A joke gift, obviously,” Ron said. “I mean, it’s not like you can get him a cursed object – that’s probably rules against, unfortunately. But you could get him something from the shop. Maybe puking pastilles? Fever fudge?"

Harry considered the merits of this suggestion very carefully. Of course, it would be simply marvellous to see the pompous git turn the same shade as his favourite scarf, but would the inevitable backlash be worth it? Probably not – cross a Malfoy and you only have yourself to blame for the repercussions.

Next he asked Hermione.

“Perhaps something thoughtful. Something he’d enjoy?”

At the look of astonishment then suspicion on Ron’s face, she quickly clarified. “Only because the whole point of this thing is to bring people together. Inter-house/year cooperation and all that…”

Ron’s face was turning red, and Hermione added “I just mean you can’t get him something awful, ok? Don’t be an arse.”

Harry was less impressed by this suggestion, so he cast his net wider. Neville was thoughtful but clearly would’ve liked nothing more than to give Malfoy a lump of coal. “Maybe something to do with brooms. He likes flying, doesn’t he? And you know Quidditch stuff.”

“Thanks, Neville. Who’ve you got?”

“I’m not staying for Christmas, this year. I’m off to Gran’s. She’s dead chuffed to introduce me to her bridge partner. It’s all a bit embarrassing really.”

Harry smiled. It was good to know some things had changed for the better, and Neville’s self esteem had certainly improved. He still hadn’t landed upon a good idea, though, so he kept surveying the crowds.

Seamus suggested a swift kick to the groin. Dean seconded that suggestion, adding a right hook to the jaw, and though Harry could see the appeal, he didn’t see that going down too well with McGonagall.

Luna suggested that Harry make something. “Maybe a drawing of the two of you. I think he’d like that.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh, you know. He’s sensitive like that,” she said mysteriously, gliding off down the corridor. Harry resisted the urge to comment on how Malfoy had kept Luna prisoner in his basement and ask how, exactly, that made him ‘sensitive’ in Luna’s books, but he restrained himself and moved on.

Hagrid, of course, suggested a pet. “Has he got an owl?”

“Umm, I don’t know. I guess so,” Harry said, over their regular Tuesday afternoon tea and rock cakes.

“Well, owls aren’t nearly as good as snidgets for post, but they’re quite difficult to get yer hands on. He’s probably not worth that much effort, is he?”

Harry shook his head, thinking that the day he buys Malfoy a pet is a sad day for animals everywhere.

***

Four days later and Harry was no closer to knowing what to get for Malfoy, and it was starting to distract him from his studies. He knew it shouldn’t. He knew he could just get the boy a box of bitter dark chocolates from Honeydukes or a festive scarf and that would be enough, but for some reason he felt compelled to put his best foot forward. Malfoy wasn’t some stranger from second year – they had a history. There was something about him that frustrated and intrigued Harry in equal measure, and he was starting to lose sleep over trying to work it out.

Ron, being the best friend that he was, had started to notice this and was determined to help his mate sort himself out.

“Not sleeping well?” he asked casually over a game of chess that weekend.

“Not really. Bad dreams,” Harry replied.

“Mmm,” Ron replied, watching Harry fiddle with the carnage of a sacrificed rook.

“What do you mean ‘mmm’?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

“Is it just the bad dreams, or are you preoccupied with what to get that git for KK?” Ron said, cutting to the chase.

“It’s not important, I know. I just…” he shrugged.

“Hermione told me this would happen.”

“What?”

“You’d get obsessed again.”

“I’m not obsessed, I-”

“You are, though. There’s something about Malfoy that just gets under your skin. Doesn’t matter what the excuse is – he’s the heir of Slytherin so we need to make polyjuice, he’s being suspicious so we need to follow him using the map, need I go on? Face it, Harry, you’re weirdly obsessed with him and this KK stuff is just your latest excuse to daydream about him.”

“Ron, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! You’re making it sound… weird. It’s not. I’m not… I just want to get him a decent present.”

“But why, Harry? He’s not your friend.”

“He’s not my enemy, either,” Harry shot back, feeling uncomfortable with how much Ron was analysing things.

Ron sighed, giving Harry a pitying look that Harry didn’t understand at all. “Listen, mate, I’m just saying that if Malfoy’s keeping you up at night, maybe you should do something about it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Ron stared at Harry for a minute, and then seemed to change tack completely.

“Stop asking other people and do your own research. Think sixth year – use the map and work out what he’s always off doing. Can’t hurt, can it?”

“I guess.”

“Let me know how you get on… And, check mate,” Ron said, smiling. “I’m off. Got to talk to Hermione.”

“Okay, I’ve got an essay to finish, so I’ll see you later,” Harry said.

“See you.”

***

Ron shot a look over his shoulder as he went to climb the stairs to the girls’ dorms. Harry was looking out the window, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked very confused.

“How’d it go?” Hermione whispered, from the step above Ron, having met him halfway.

“I think you’re right,” Ron sighed, leaning his head on her shoulder. “He has no idea, though.”

“Poor Harry…”

“Insane Harry, more like,” Ron mumbled. Hermione slipped her hand into his and, as usual, his stomach swooped. He smiled. “I s’pose it’s not like we can talk, though. Took us years to work this out.”

“Worth the wait,” Hermione replied, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “What did you tell him?”

“He’s going to follow Malfoy around and see what’s what.”

“Oh good. They can work it out for themselves, then.”

“This is not how I thought things would go, Hermione.”

“I know, but Ginny has Dean now anyway. Harry deserves some happiness.”

“Even with… nope, I can’t even say it,” Ron shuddered. Hermione elected to ignore this and instead led Ron upstairs, leaving their emotionally inept friend to stare out the window by himself.


	3. December 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is slightly stilted dialogue but FINALLY interaction between our favourite boys!

Harry had been stalking Malfoy for a few days, now, and was still no closer to discovering the inspiration for the perfect gift. The boy was insufferably boring. His usual day was as follows: Go down to breakfast alone at precisely 7am, eat a bowl of bran with berries, pinch an apple for later, go to class alone, eat the apple walking from the first class to the second class of the day, return to the Great Hall for lunch, grab a sandwich, walk the deserted third floor corridor while eating said sandwich, go to third period, read a book in an unknown alcove on the fifth floor between third and fourth period, go to forth period, retreat to the dormitories for two hours, go back to the Great Hall for dinner, then back to the dorms as early as 8pm.

It was interminably dull! And at no point throughout the day did Malfoy interact with anyone other than teachers or students he’d been paired with in his classes. Harry was sad to note, however, that Malfoy did receive a fair bit of negative attention, most of which he brushed off with cold indifference.

It was Thursday afternoon between third and fourth period, and Malfoy was on his way to the hidden alcove to read his book. Harry was considering leaving his observations early because he had an afternoon tea scheduled with Hagrid, when something new happened.

Malfoy was halfway up a flight of stairs when someone from below sent a tripping jinx at him. Harry had to fight his seeker’s reflexes to help, because to do so would be to blow his cover. Malfoy’s hands hit the cold stone with a slap, and his book went tumbling down the stairs.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” jeered a voice which Harry recognised as belonging to Cormac McLaggen. Malfoy simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his back still to his attackers, and Harry could tell he was trying to control his temper.

“Speak up!” McLaggen ordered.

“Leave me alone, please,” Malfoy said, trying to rise gracefully but faltering as pain shot through his legs.

“Please? Since when do Death Eaters say please?” another student cackled.

Harry’s grip tightened around his wand. He couldn’t very well reveal himself now, or Malfoy would know he’d been followed, but equally he couldn’t stand to see anyone be bullied, especially when the numbers were so disproportionate. There were five of them against one. Malfoy would definitely come off second best in this duel.

“I just want to get to class,” Malfoy said, gripping the rail for support.

“Bit hard to go without your books, now,” a girl said, picking up Malfoy’s discarded novel. “What are you reading?”

“I’d like my book back, please,” Malfoy said.

“ _King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table_? A children’s book!”

“A muggle book!”

“How would daddy like to know that his little boy is reading a muggle book?”

Harry could see that this teasing was leading to something volatile, and desperately sought to diffuse the situation, so he cast a non-verbal _silencio_ at the group, rendering them unable to make any noise. When McLaggen realised what had happened, he looked furious and drew his wand, no doubt to make Malfoy pay. Another non-verbal and Harry had disarmed them, their wands flying up towards Malfoy, whose own wand was still in his pocket. Malfoy looked around, confused and suspicious. Harry could’ve sworn his eyes lingered on his invisible form for a moment longer but then Malfoy seized the chance to _accio_ his book and get away from the pack of now-livid bullies.

***

The next two days, Harry had to keep his distance, for whenever he was following Malfoy, the boy would abruptly stop and listen. It was as though he was trying to catch out a second set of footsteps. Harry had a feeling he was onto him. 

That Saturday night, however, Harry was exhausted – he’d spent the day playing Quidditch with some of his old Gryffindor teammates and writing a three-foot essay for Flitwick – so he wasn’t paying as close attention to his quarry as he should’ve been. They were on the third floor corridor when it happened.

“Okay, Potter, enough! Come out from under that bloody cloak so I can see you!” Malfoy said angrily, stopping so suddenly in the middle of the empty corridor that Harry nearly ran smack into him. Harry ignored this instruction – Malfoy surely didn’t _know_ he was there.

“I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing, I could hear your footsteps, and I can smell your damned cologne, you imbecile.”

Oh. Still Harry remained hidden.

“Fine, be that way. Keep stalking me. You won’t find anything. No evil plan, no plotting, just someone who very much wants to stay out of other people’s way. Why won’t you give me that, at least?” Malfoy sighed, sounding suddenly tired. Harry felt a pang of guilt. The former Death Eater seemed worn out, shrunken somehow as though all the fight had gone out of him. Harry slid off the cloak. He was standing a metre or so behind Draco, who still couldn’t see him.

“Sorry.”

Draco whipped around, nearly giving himself whiplash. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry… for following you. I’ll leave you alone.”

Draco was somewhat taken aback by the readiness with which Potter seemed to heed his request. It made him suspicious.

“You will?”

“Yes. I didn’t realise I was being so obvious-“

“Well you stalked me for the better part of sixth year, Potter, I’m hardly surprised that you’d do it again. You clearly still think I’m up to something.”

“I don’t-”

“Of course you do. Otherwise, why follow me around like an auror undercover? Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, he must be up to something nefarious. Well, I’m not. I just want to get my NEWTs and get out of this awful place, and I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of my way.”

Draco could feel colour rising in his cheeks – he hadn’t meant to say all of that out loud. Now Potter had ammunition to use against him. What an idiot he was! But, to his continued surprise, Potter began to look uncomfortable.

“Sorry, Malfoy… I didn’t- I mean, I had no idea that… Never mind… I’m going,” Harry mumbled, turning to walk away. Draco had the insane urge to try to explain himself, but couldn’t find the words.

“Potter…”

Harry turned to look over his shoulder, green eyes expectant. Draco faltered.

“Never mind,” he mumbled, making a hasty retreat in the opposite direction.


	4. December 10

It was Wednesday’s double potions class that Harry was really dreading. He’d avoided Malfoy like the plague since their uncomfortable and, frankly, confusing encounter the previous weekend, and Harry was not looking forward to being locked in a steamy and claustrophobic dungeon with him.

He’d voiced his concerns to Ron and Hermione, who’d done nothing but exchange a knowing glance and tell him it wouldn’t be that bad. Harry was not convinced, but decided not to let one bizarre interaction with Malfoy affect his potions classes and derail his auror career. With that in mind, he arrived at class early and secured a table with Neville up the back of the classroom. 

For over an hour the class went by without incident. Harry prevented Neville from adding the wrong ingredient to his Amortentia, and Neville showed Harry the best way to crush up rose thorns.

“See, the trick is to use the handle of the knife, not the pestle,” Neville said.

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry said distractedly, as a certain blond walked past their bench to the supplies cupboard at the back of the room.

Neville let out a small snort, grabbing Harry’s attention. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Neville replied, shrugging his shoulders, “It’s just good to know that some things haven’t changed.”

Malfoy walked back past the pair, seemingly oblivious to the two sets of eyes following him.

“What do you mean things haven’t changed?”

“Nothing, really. Just… well, you are still obsessed by Malfoy, aren’t you?”

It was Harry’s turn to snort, “What?!”

“You’ve been watching him all lesson. I’m surprised you’ve been able to stop me from exploding my potion, given all the attention directed to him.”

“I’m trying to understand him better, is all,” Harry said. He was fed up with the insinuations and knowing glances, so he decided to make things perfectly clear. “You know he’s my target for KK. I just want to get him a good present.”

“If you really want to get to know him better, why don’t you invite him to Hogsmeade this weekend? All whole bunch of us eighth years are going.”

“Me? Invite Malfoy? You’ve got to be joking. He’d take the piss for weeks. ‘Saint Potter deigning to ask a mere mortal to Hogsmeade’,” Harry said, imitating Draco’s drawl. “No way!”

“Harry, we’ve all got to get past the war eventually. Childhood rivalry doesn’t matter anymore. I think even Malfoy’s realised that.”

“I’m still not going to ask him,” Harry said, folding his arms and perfectly aware that he was being stubborn just for the sake of being stubborn.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Neville, wait-”

“Hey, Malfoy!” Neville called out, making the effort to walk most of the way to Malfoy’s bench. After all, Neville was the considerate sort and didn’t want to make the Slytherin feel uncomfortable. The boy in question turned his head, eyebrow raised in an expression of curiosity and not-quite-contempt.

“Yes, Longbottom?”

“Harry wants to know if you’ll come to Hogsmeade with us this weekend?”

“Harry what?” Draco said, completely knocked for six.

“A whole bunch of the eighth years are going and you’ve not hung out with many of us this year. He, well, _we_ were just saying you should come along. If you’re not too busy.”

Malfoy looked a bit stunned, but recovered quickly, closing his mouth as soon as he realised it was hanging open. He was faring better than Harry, whose face had gone crimson with embarrassment.

“Uh, I suppose. If I don’t have too much work,” he said, trying to be gracious. He had no real intention of attending some probably Gryffindor-heavy outing to a pathetic little village, which would probably involve inane chatter with people he had no interest in, and a snowball fight/trip to the Shrieking Shack/stupid games of any other variety. But, he was trying to make the year as easy on himself as possible, and having a few allies with hero complexes couldn’t hurt… no matter what he’d told Harry previously. Maybe he would consider going.

“Cool, see you Saturday,” Neville said, a genuine smile on his face as he turned to re-join Harry. Harry simply put his head on the desk and remained quiet for the rest of the class.

***

Saturday came around far too quickly for Harry’s liking. It was now the 13th of December, and the Kris Kringle presents were due in less than a fortnight. A blanket of snow covered the ground outside, and Harry was momentarily hopeful that the weather might prevent Malfoy from attending. He hated the cold! Of course, as soon as Harry realised that he knew that fun fact about Malfoy, he started to worry that maybe Neville was right – maybe he was obsessed with Malfoy.

Harry then began to wonder whether he’d lost his marbles. Why was he so set on getting Malfoy a good present? It was not as though they were friends. That being said, Harry hadn’t exactly felt any particular animosity towards Malfoy of late. Sure, they sparred verbally whenever they had the chance, but Harry had to admit that had been lacking somewhat this year. Malfoy tended to avoid contact with everyone, not just Harry. He’d been withdrawn, less imperious, less _Malfoy_ than usual. Then there was last week’s incident, where the boy had revealed more to Harry than he’d intended. All he wanted to do was leave Hogwarts and start life abroad somewhere. For some reason, the thought of this filled Harry with a sense of sadness – perhaps sympathy that Malfoy felt the need to run away from all the hatred he faced here, but more likely the fact that Harry would miss the git. After all, who would he be without his boyhood nemesis? 

Harry shook his head slightly, as if hoping to shake loose all these confusing thoughts about Malfoy, then proceeded to breakfast with everyone else.

Meanwhile, Draco had been up half the night debating whether or not to go to Hogsmeade with his fellow eighth-years. On the one hand, he was in desperate need of more chocolate (his last supply had run out a week ago, and there were no more care packages coming from home). He also needed to find a present for Looney Lovegood.

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure how the rest of the eighth years would take his presence. Most Slytherins had written him off, though it was unlikely they’d be attending, and other students made it clear what they thought of him when given the opportunity. Bloody Gryffindors and perfect Potter would probably leap to his defence, so he wasn’t worried for personal safety reasons, it’s just that having to defend against hatred and malice for a solid four or five hours could be fairly draining.

On the other, other hand, maybe some time out of Hogwarts would be good for him. Maybe socialising, even with some of the most tedious people at the school, could help him get some of his old spark back. He had as good as told Potter the other night that he was miserable. Time to stop self-pitying and get on with things. And so he resolved to attend…

***

At ten o’clock, several eighth years had gathered in the entrance hall before making their way to Hogsmeade. Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbot were canoodling off to one side, Neville Longbottom appeared to be in deep conversation with Luna Lovegood, Seamus and Dean were arguing about something sport-related with Ron Weasley occasionally interjecting with his own opinion, while Hermione Granger and Harry Potter stood to one side, the former apparently trying to cheer up the latter. Draco sighed, and made his way towards the group, making a beeline for Neville who had invited him in the first place.

“Hello, Longbottom,” he said curtly, trying to disguise his anxiety with his finely tuned manners.

“Malfoy, good to see you could make it,” Neville smiled, surprisingly genuinely.

“Hello, Draco,” Luna said in her usual dreamy way. “Have you had a nice week?”

“Not particularly, no. And you?” he replied, giving in to the inevitable small talk.

“The nargles were particularly active last night so I didn’t sleep well. But I’m glad you’re here,” she smiled serenely.

“Is anyone else coming along?”

“We’re waiting on Ginny and one of your lot, actually. Goyle said he might come along.”

“He did?” Draco replied, taken aback.

“Yeah, said he fancied a break from essays,” Dean chipped in.

“Huh. Unexpected.”

“That’s what we said,” Neville grinned, and Draco felt as though he’d been let in on an inside joke. It was… nice.

Five minutes later, everyone had assembled and they began to make their way across the grounds to the gates. Harry still hadn’t spoken to Malfoy, and had absolutely no intention of doing so, unlike the rest of the group who seemed to have some sort of unspoken agreement to be as cordial and civil as possible. Even Hermione, who had been tortured by Draco’s aunt and would have every right to dislike him, had asked how his classes were going. That being said, the small talk was still forced and very tiring for Draco, so when it came time to walk he drifted towards the back of the pack so that he could just enjoy the peace and quiet. 

But the universe was not going to make it that easy for him. Just as he began to enjoy the walk and the sound of the soft crunch of snow underfoot, he saw Harry bend down to tie a shoelace. If he kept walking he would draw level with him, and be forced into yet more pointless chatter, but if he stopped or tried to hang back, it would look suspicious and rude. Draco had no choice but to forge ahead, and it was just as Potter was straightening up that Draco fell into step with him.

“Hello, Potter,” Draco said, his darn manners forcing him into it.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry said, cheeks slightly pink from the cold.

And that was it. Nothing more was said, because neither boy felt the need to fill in the silence. At first, Harry felt awkward, but then they both just enjoyed their surroundings and that sense of lightness that came with leaving schoolwork behind. They managed a good twenty minutes of semi-comfortable quiet time before Draco decided to say what had been on his mind since Wednesday’s potions class.

“Thank you for extending an invitation to me, Potter. I know it mustn’t have been easy for you, but I appreciate it.”

“Technically Neville asked you, but you’re welcome,” Harry replied.

“Well, he did say that _you_ wanted me to come,” Draco shot back. Harry glared at him. “That is what happened, Potter.”

“Yes…Well, I just thought maybe you needed a break.”

“From the bullies, you mean?” Draco replied, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not just that-”

“Because you know I can handle myself, right? I don’t need hero Potter rushing in to save the day.”

“Draco, I know that. I just meant that you might want a break from school. Be normal for five minutes, not some sort of essay-writing robot who avoids human contact at all costs.”

There was a brief pause, and Malfoy caught Harry’s eye before looking away again and continuing the conversation.

“What’s a robot?” Malfoy replied, and Harry was glad he had politely ignored the slip of his given name.

“It’s like a mechanical person who has no emotions and is highly efficient,” Harry explained, “But that’s not the point-”

“You think I don’t have emotions?” Draco asked.

“No, I think you do, but that you hide them.”

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do. I followed you around for a week, remember? I know you.”

Draco stopped abruptly, and turned to face Harry.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about that,” he replied, frostily. “I thought you might have enough sense not to bring it up, because you know it would piss me off. And don’t presume, just because you stalked me, that you know who I am, Potter. You have no idea.”

Harry was sufficiently chastised, and stopped walking. Draco took a few more furious steps before turning back to look at Potter. He was staring at his shoes, looking annoyed with himself and embarrassed. Draco waited, his brief flare of anger subsiding.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have followed you like that. It was an invasion of privacy,” Harry said.

“Damn right it was,” Draco muttered.

“I don’t know you,” Harry continued, flicking his eyes up to meet Draco’s, “But I’d like to. If you’ll let me.”

Draco felt an unfamiliar swooping sensation in his stomach at the sincerity in Potter’s voice and the unwavering eye contact he was making. Draco managed a jerky nod of assent, “okay,” before turning and following the rest of the group. 

Harry trailed along behind him, heart pounding. He still didn’t understand why it was so important for him to get to know Malfoy, but he had a feeling if he thought about it too deeply, he wouldn’t like the answer. So he kept his distance from him for a few hours.

The group finished their day trip at the Hog’s Head. The Three Broomsticks was always packed when the weather was nice and snowy, and Hermione had gently suggested that Madam Rosmerta might not be too pleased to see everyone in their group. Draco felt a stab of guilt at this, but pretended not to care. That seemed to be his strength this year, after all.

The group of eleven (Goyle had never turned up) sat around a rickety table towards the back of the pub. It was relatively busy by Aberforth’s standards, so Harry and Hermione offered to get the drinks for everyone; otherwise they’d be waiting for a while.

As they waited to be served, Hermione asked Harry how he was feeling with regards to ‘the whole Malfoy thing’.

“What do you mean by that, Hermione?” Harry sighed, exasperated.

“You two seem to have something going on, I’m just curious as to what it is,” she replied.

“I just think I ought to get to know him better. For the Kris Kringle, obviously,” Harry said. “I keep putting my foot in it, though. He didn’t take to well to my stalking him the other week.”

“Oh, Harry.”

“I know, I know. If I can’t even follow the git around without being detected, how am I ever going to be an auror? And more to the point, how am I supposed to know what he’d want for Christmas?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Obviously through conversation. Ask him how he’s going, what his interests are, his hobbies-”

“Apart from being a prat, you mean-”

“Harry!” Hermione frowned. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but he’s been nothing but cordial and gracious today. Unlike you, as you’ve avoided talking to him at all costs.”

“That’s a bit unfair, Hermione-”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just talk to him! You might have more in common than you’d think.”

“Like what?”

“Well, if you spoke to him I supposed you’d find out, wouldn’t you?”

Harry just rolled his eyes and ordered the drinks. 

As it turned out, he wouldn’t have the chance to speak to Malfoy until the following evening, by which point he’d had some time to consider Hermione’s suggestion, and resolved that he wasn’t being entirely fair. Sure, he had no great desire to speak with Malfoy – the boy was a puzzle and their discussions inevitably turned into arguments – but if he came across him, then he would endeavour to be polite and inclusive. The shame of not exactly having done so today nagged at the back of his mind. Perhaps he was the one in the wrong for a change. Now that was a worrying thought…


	5. December 14

One of Harry’s favourite things to do at Hogwarts was to go for an early morning or late night fly around the grounds. There were definitely rules and curfews that prohibited this, but Harry had never much been one for following instructions. He frequently used his cloak and the map to sneak past prefects and Peeves, all the way out to the remains of the Quidditch pitch.

Construction had begun on the new stands, but the burnt out skeletons of the original buildings stood as a stark reminder of what had been lost. Harry supposed that was why he liked coming out here – he didn’t have to pretend that everything was fine.

On this particular occasion, it was well past midnight when Harry decided to sneak out of the eighth year dorms and down to the frost-covered field. He left his invisibility cloak on a bench and kicked off, instantly feeling refreshed by the tingly-cold wind on his face. He did a couple of laps of the pitch, throwing in the odd roll here and there, before taking a snitch out of his pocket and letting it loose. After thirty minutes of chasing the tiny golden ball, and four capture and releases, Harry decided it was probably time to return. As he circled the pitch, he glimpsed a familiar blonde head of hair sitting on the bench where he’d left his belongings. With a sense of trepidation, he returned to the ground.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, not really caring if he sounded a bit rude.

“I didn’t expect it to be so soft,” Malfoy said, running his fingers over the silken fabric of the invisibility cloak. “It almost feels like water.”

“Why are you out here at three o’clock in the morning, Malfoy?” Harry persisted. Malfoy looked up, surprised. “Is it that early?”

“Yes. And you haven’t answered my question,” Harry frowned.

“You’re not the only one who can’t sleep, Potter.”

“You know you’ll catch your death out here if you’re not careful.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, his whole demeanour changing, and Harry instantly regretted his choice of words. “I just mean it’s bloody freezing and if you’re just sitting around, you might… I don’t know. Forget it,” he huffed. There was a pause as Malfoy regarded Harry carefully.

“I go for a walk most nights, quite late. It’s nice to not have to worry about other people seeing me,” Malfoy said.

“Since when do you care about other people seeing you?”

“You really haven’t been paying attention, have you?” Malfoy said, and Harry instantly felt as though he’d been chastised. “Think, Potter. It surely isn’t that difficult for you to work out. I’m back at Hogwarts by the grace of the school board and the Ministry. I’m not back because anyone here wants me to be.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Harry began.

“Potter, surely you’ve noticed that I’m a social pariah. People think that I’m untrustworthy. That I’m damaged and dangerous goods. Do you understand? Does the golden boy have any idea of what it’s like to be the villain in a story written for you by others, or how it feels to be reminded that you are that villain every single day?” Malfoy was now visibly upset; his cheeks pink and his eyes glinting dangerously.

“I had no idea-“

“Of course you didn’t! How could you? And why would you? Like I said: you’re the hero in this story. Why would you worry what happened to the bad guy?”

“You’re not the-“

“I am, though,” Malfoy said, grabbing his left forearm with his hand – the place Harry knew Malfoy had been tattooed with the Dark Mark. “I am…” he whispered.

Harry didn’t quite know what to say to that, or what to do. Malfoy was glaring at him, daring him to say something stupid or oblivious or ignorant. The eye contact was making Harry uncomfortable – it felt as though Malfoy was trying to read his thoughts.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” Harry said, deciding if Malfoy could read thoughts then honesty would be the best policy.

“It’s fine… It’s not like we’re friends. I don’t need you to say anything,” Malfoy said, looking away towards Hagrid’s hut.

“We’re not friends, but… I mean. We’re not first years anymore. We don’t have to be enemies either.”

Malfoy turned to look back at Harry, a faint frown creasing his otherwise smooth face. “What?”

Harry shrugged, trying to remember what his mind-healer had told him. “We’re more than our past. We’re more than our mistakes, even. You don’t deserve to be unhappy.”

Malfoy snorted, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’d done-“

“But I do know,” Harry said quietly. “And it was awful. You were awful. But you’re more than just your fuck ups.”

“Do you really mean that, or is it golden boy propaganda? Make friends with the enemy so you come out smelling of roses?”

“Jesus Christ, Malfoy, not everyone is as calculating as that! You’re so cynical!”

“Sorry… I’m not used to…whatever.”

Harry decided to push on. “Listen, I don’t want to fight you anymore, okay? I’m not saying we’ll be friends but there’s no need for you to isolate yourself from everyone.”

“Everyone’s isolated themselves from me,” Malfoy said, fully aware that he sounded like a petulant child. Harry had to acknowledge that he was one such person – up till this point, he had been trying hard to avoid any sort of interaction with Malfoy, but his reasoning was nothing to do with the war. He decided to push on.

“Well you’re not trying very hard to include yourself. Going for walks after dark and eating alone… Difficult for people to forgive and forget if you’re never around.”

Malfoy was perturbed by the fact that Potter actually seemed to be making sense. A cold breeze picked up and ruffled the hairs on his head, making him shiver involuntarily and wish he’d worn more weather-appropriate clothing.

“Put the cloak on before you turn into a human icicle,” Harry said, frowning. Draco looked down to see he was still holding the invisibility cloak. “It’s warmer than it looks,” Harry added. Draco complied wordlessly, feeling warmer as soon as the thin material was over his shoulders. Harry snorted out a laugh.

“What?” Draco said, on alert.

“You’re a floating head,” Harry smiled, “reminds me of third year in Hogsmeade…”

“You mean when you and Weasel made me think you were the ghost that haunts the Shrieking Shack,” Draco glared.

“Yeah… good times.”

“All I can remember from that year is dementors and feeling cold all the time.”

“And when Hermione punched you in the face – don’t forget that bit,” Harry smirked.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Draco quipped, though he was enjoying the back-and-forth they had going. He was sure he’d ruin it soon enough, though.

“It was, though. You were such a git back then! Honestly, if I had a sickle for every time you said ‘my father will hear about this’ I would be a very rich man.”

“Gee, thanks, Potter.”

There was a pause in which the two boys regarded each other; one smiling, the other cautiously optimistic but maintaining a poker-face, and it was almost as though something had clicked into place.

“Do you think that maybe you could call me Harry?” Harry said. “In the interests of not being so ‘hero vs. villain’ from now on?”

“I suppose so…”

“Okay… good.”

“And, I guess, if you want to call me by my given name… when no one else is around, then that would be fine.”

“Ok, Draco, I’ll do that,” Harry said. Draco nodded curtly in reply, diligently avoiding eye contact. Something about the way Harry said his name made his chest flutter. It had been so long since someone had spoken to him with such familiarity. But it was more than that. He realised it was something he’d wanted since first year and now, finally, after everything, he had it.

“C’mon, we should go back inside,” Harry said quietly. Draco nodded and followed Harry back to the castle and their common room where they parted ways for the night.

***

Harry woke up the next morning, later than usual, to find his invisibility cloak folded into a neat square at the end of his bed. Atop the parcel was a note written in perfect cursive: _Thank you – Draco_. Harry smiled.


	6. December 15

As it turned out, Harry got a cold from his late night Quidditch practice, and spent the next two days laid up in bed shivering. He could’ve gone to the hospital wing, but he’d been in there enough times to know that his own bed was far more comfortable and far more likely to allow for a restorative snooze.

Ron and Hermione kept him entertained during their free periods and brought him soup at lunchtime from the kitchens, but apart from that he was very much left to his own devices. Even though he was terribly tired, Harry was having difficulty sleeping. Fire and brooms and blonde hair plagued his dreams, and he really wished he’d been better at brewing the potion for a dreamless sleep. Reluctantly (because he felt like an idiot for even considering this as a solution) Harry opened up the dream diary Luna had given him for his birthday and began writing.

*** 

_Well, this is a new low for me. I don’t think a dream diary will help, and I certainly don’t want to write out what happens in my dreams in case someone finds this, but when I was practicing occlumency, writing down all my thoughts helped me to clear my mind. Maybe that’s what I need now?_

_I can’t stop thinking about Malfoy. Or Draco, I guess. I don’t know why. It’s not._

_He confuses me. He acts all aloof and distant with everyone, but then when someone shows they genuinely care, he’s taken aback. Like he’s never had that before. Or he hasn’t had it enough. He’s so cynical, too, far too cynical for someone our age. Although, I guess war does change people._

_I wonder if he dreams about it too? The Fiendfyre and the Room of Requirement… I do. More so lately than I have before. Probably because I have Malfoy on the brain._

_Draco. He said I could call him Draco…_

_And he wants to move away, far away from this school and everyone in it. Why? He’s not a criminal. He didn’t kill anyone. Why should he have to run away? That hardly seems fair to me. But he acts like it’s a done deal. It must be awful to live with that kind of defeat – to feel like no one cares about you or trusts you._

_Maybe that’s what he needs: someone to show him that they trust him; someone to prove he’s not the villain he thinks he is. Could I be that person for him? Every time we talk, we end up in an argument. I put my foot in it by saying something that shows I don’t understand his point of view, he gets his nose out of joint about it, we squabble, I apologise, then I leave confused and frustrated._

_Merlin! I thought I got all this angst out of my system in fifth year! What is it about Draco that lets him get under my skin like no one else can? Why do I dream about him?_

_Why am I writing this down?_


	7. December 17

At some point during his latest fever-induced sleep, Harry had pictured Malfoy as he had been that day in the Room of Requirement: one minute sneering and menacing, then next minute running for his life like a terrified child, clinging onto Harry so tightly it hurt. While this wasn’t an unusual dream for Harry (war flashbacks were his bread and butter), the ending had changed somewhat. This time, after they’d escaped the deadly flames, Malfoy had refused to let go. Instead of running off to find his parents, and Harry going off to defeat Voldemort, Draco had clung on to Harry and Harry had clung back. They’d stood in the crumbling corridors, locked in some sort of embrace, in a way that two people who’d been searching for each other might after some slow-motion running-towards-each-other-on-a-beach type scenario from a naff midday movie. While these dreams usually gave Harry a sense of urgent dread, this one left him feeling… comforted.

‘Very odd’ Harry thought to himself, before rolling out of bed and towards the showers. It was Wednesday and he’d be damned if he missed another class, especially if it was double potions.

***

“You’re seeming chipper this morning for someone who was on death’s door yesterday,” Hermione said with a sly smile over breakfast. “Anything in particular that’s putting that spring in your step?”

“I just slept well, that’s all,” Harry replied, taking another bite of toast.

“Good, ’cause for a minute there we thought it was because you had potions and didn’t want to miss such an important class,” Ron grinned, reaching across Harry to snag another sausage.

“Okay, I’m starting to think it’s you two with the Malfoy obsession, not me,” Harry quipped, though he wasn’t really mad. Certainly not as irritated as he would’ve been by that comment a few days prior. Interesting what a couple of days thinking and a good dream could do.

“Good to have you back, though, mate,” Ron said. “I was getting sick of Hermione inviting Malfoy to breakfast with us in your absence-”

“It was two days, Ronald-”

“You what?” Harry said, choking slightly on the crumbs he’d inhaled in shock.

“Yeah, that’s a thing that happens now. Sometimes Malfoy sits with us,” Ron said, dryly. “It’s brilliant.”

“Not just us, though. Since Hogsmeade, he’s sat with Neville and Luna at dinner, and us at breakfast. Oh, and yesterday I saw him pass Dean an apple at lunch. It was quite unexpected,” Hermione said.

“And yet, when I’m here, he’s nowhere to be seen,” Harry said, struggling to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Actually, that is odd,” Hermione frowned. “I wonder where he is.”

“Probably just gone to potions early,” Ron said, mouth full of food, “It’s his favourite class, innit?”

“Mmm,” Harry replied, feeling as though he’d lost his appetite.

“You sure you’re up for class today? You still look a little peaky,” Hermione said with a frown.

“Yeah, I dunno. I think I’ll be fine,” Harry said, feeling anything but. “I’ve left something upstairs, though, so I’ll just… I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

 ***

Harry wearily trudged his way back up to the eighth year dormitories, considering the prospect of yet another day in bed. He didn’t want to miss class, but seemed to have run out of steam already. As he ascended the stairs to his shared room, the door opened and Malfoy emerged carrying something in his arms.

“Merlin, Potter! You gave me a fright,” he said, nearly dropping the lot.

“What were you doing in my room?” Harry asked, not impolitely.

“Oh, I, uh. Well, I heard you weren’t feeling great so I thought I’d bring you some food,” Draco replied, cheeks colouring. Harry experienced that strange swooping feeling in his stomach again.

“Thanks. That’s really thoughtful,” Harry said quietly.

“Yes, well. Can’t have our great saviour dying from the common cold, can we?” Draco replied, diligently avoiding looking Harry in the eye. Harry knew this was just a quip to divert attention from the fact that Draco Malfoy had actually committed a random act of kindness – something his reputation would surely never recover from.

“Do you want to come in?” Harry asked, gesturing to his room. Draco made some sort of shrugging motion, which Harry took to mean yes, and so he led the Slytherin back into his room. It was then that Harry realised with a sinking feeling that he’d left his dream journal on the bedside table. Not wanting to impugn Draco’s honour, or be rude in the face of his recent selflessness, Harry chose not to ask if his diary had been read. He wasn’t sure he’d like the answer given the way Draco’s eyes flashed briefly to it, and then back to the bed.

“So, you brought me breakfast in bed?” Harry said instead, urging his voice to stay steady.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter, I just wasn’t sure the elves do room service. And an apple a day keeps the doctor away, or so I’m told.”

“Who told you that?” Harry said, scooting back onto his bed so that he was resting against the headboard. “Do you even know what a doctor is?”

Draco sat down as far as possible at the other end of the bed, placing the tray in the middle. “I’ve taken up Muggle Studies this year,” he replied. “So do you want any of this or have you eaten al-”

“You’re doing Muggle Studies?”

“Yes. And?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t expect it,” Harry said, hands up in defence.

“As I was saying, do you want anything? I’ve got some pastries, an apple and a self-warming pot of tea.”

“Wouldn’t say no to a tea,” Harry smiled. “Are you going to have one, too?”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Draco muttered.

“Do they only teach idioms in this Muggle Studies class?” Harry grinned.

“Oh shut it,” Draco quipped. “Milk, no sugar?”

Harry simply nodded, bemused that Draco would know how he took his tea.

“So Ron and Hermione tell me you’ve been socialising since I’ve been ill. Coincidence?”

“Not really. You just made a good point the other night. People aren’t going to stop hating me unless I give them a reason not to.”

“Hmm.”

“And, dare I say it, half your lot aren’t as tedious as I thought they’d be.”

“Oh, high praise coming from you-”

“I mean, Finnegan knows two-fifths of fuck all about Quidditch, and as far as I’m concerned Lovegood is completely loony, but the rest of them aren’t so bad.”

“You know Luna’s one of my best friends, right?”

“Yes, but you’re not best known for your taste, are you. I mean look at that jumper!”

“This is a handmade Molly Weasley jumper, I’ll have you know.”

“Enough said, then,” Draco smirked, though there was no real malice in it.

They lapsed into a pleasant silence for a moment as they both enjoyed their tea.

“You know, you’re going to miss potions if you hang around here any longer,” Harry said, sipping at his steaming mug.

“Oh well, it’s not as though I’m going to fail that class. Potions is the one class I definitely know I’m better than everyone else at.”

“Wish I was that confident with it. I need it for my auror training but it just doesn’t click with me. Not like Defence.”

“Saint Potter probably won’t need qualifications, though. Surely they’ll just invite you to be head auror and be done with it.”

“Very funny, Draco.”

“No, seriously, take it and run. Why bother wasting your time in lessons? If I had my pick of the jobs after Hogwarts, I wouldn’t waste my time studying.”

“You know I wouldn’t use my name for that, though.”

“Yes. Yet another one of your annoying traits – integrity.”

“Ha-ha,” Harry said dryly. Another pause.

“Listen, if you need help with potions, I could always tutor you I guess.”

“Who are you and what’ve you done with Draco Malfoy?” Harry asked, semi-seriously.

“Look, you struck a chord with me the other night. Made me realise that self-pity really isn’t a very attractive quality. I just want to return the favour – help you out in my own way.”

“And being seen helping me, Harry Potter, has no impact on that?”

“Of course that would be a benefit, but that’s not what I’m offering,” Draco replied, frowning. “Perhaps the old me would’ve been motivated by that side of things, but I’m trying to change, Potter. It’s not like you to be so cynical. Isn’t that my role?”

“I mean… I don’t want to impose. I know how badly you need to get good grades this year-”

“Really, it would be no hassle. Well, maybe a small hassle, but that’s what friends do, isn’t it? Help each other out?”

“Is that what we are?” Harry asked, genuinely curious as to the truth.

“I think we’re getting there,” Draco replied, with a small smile.

 ***

Harry’s Dream Diary:

_Well, that’s a development. I actually like Draco Malfoy. As in, I like him as a person. Never thought that would happen._

_Then again, maybe that’s why we were always such enemies – too much in common. He has a very dry sense of humour, which I find very entertaining, even when he is using it to (jokingly) insult my friends. And he’s surprisingly thoughtful – he brought me breakfast in bed because I’ve been ill, and then offered to tutor me in potions. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a body-swapping spell gone wrong…_

_I suppose, though, he’s always had these characteristics, it’s just now he’s sharing them with me, rather than antagonising me. I always saw Crabbe and Goyle as his cronies, but they must’ve all been good friends, like Ron, Hermione and I._

_He was devastated when Crabbe got left behind in the fire… Draco is a genuinely caring person. Sure, he used to care more about himself than others, but I guess people change as they get older. Definitely for the better, in his case. He’s filled out a bit, too. Still thinner than me, but I swear he’s taller than he used to be. Not that that is relevant to anything at all._

_Reading over this, I sound completely obsessed. Imagine if anyone else read this! I sound like a right prat. If Draco read it… heaven forbid! His ego would inflate so much that he wouldn’t be able to get in the door._

_Anyway, that’s enough gushing about Malfoy for one day. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Besides, I have my first tutorial with him later and I need to read up on what I’ve missed._

*** 

_Dear Mother,_

_I know you are unlikely to receive this letter, given that St Mungo’s staff are so incompetent that to effectively relay mail is a challenge, but I’m writing to you in the hope that it does get through._

_Let me begin by saying that I hope you are well. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away for Christmas, but I will visit you during the next break. Have you heard from father?_

_School is going well enough. I’m still top of the class in potions, even though Slughorn doesn’t like to admit it, and I’m finding Muggle Studies to be an interesting experiment._

_In other news, I went to Hogsmeade on the weekend with some friends. In fact, most of them were Gryffindors. You’d be quite pleased to know that I’m not going to make the same mistakes as father – I won’t befriend people for power or privilege, but only spend time with those I actually like. I think you’d probably be surprised that Harry Potter is one of those people. We’ve had a few discussions this term, and he’s actually a lot more intelligent than I ever gave him credit for. Mind you, I’m still going to tutor him in potions, because he’s an absolute dunce when it comes to knowing the difference between valerian roots and manticore horn, but besides that he’s all right._

_Anyway, I’m not going to go on about Harry. It’s just nice to have some new people to talk to. I think I was isolating myself more than I needed to at the start of the school year. Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit, but I am making an effort to put myself out there now. Maybe that will help get past all this war stuff and start mending things. I don’t know. I hope it will._

_Love you and wishing you good health,_

_Draco_


	8. December 19

Friday afternoon was a trying one for Harry James Potter. Not only had he already had transfiguration and charms that day, but now, during his free period in which he would usually be doing the homework he'd like to avoid on the weekend, he was in the dungeons with Malfoy trying to remember the best way to slice up Belladonna. And he was making an absolute tit of himself.

"No, no, no! Honestly, are you even paying attention to anything I'm saying?" Draco said in exasperation. This did not help Harry to concentrate. In fact, it just pissed him off.

"I'm trying my best, here-"

"No, you're not. I remember you doing a perfectly adequate job of this in sixth year, but now you're just butchering the poor plant. Give me the knife," Draco said imperiously.

"No!" Harry cried, jerking his cutting hand out of Draco's reach. "I can do this."

Draco ran a tired hand over his face, but gave up the fight. He honestly hadn't anticipated that Potter would be this inept at potions, especially after he'd topped the class in sixth year.

"Fine, but at least listen to what I told you - long, slow strokes, not rough and choppy ones, yes?"

Harry's brow furrowed in concentration, as he attempted to do as Draco said. He knew why he was stuffing everything up - the damn room they were in was too hot and cramped for him to concentrate. As with the rest of the castle, it had been decorated a-la Christmas at Hogwarts, with tinsel, garlands of holly and fake snow falling from the ceiling but dissipating before it touched his cauldron. It was a small dungeon antechamber - designed specifically for students who wanted to study outside the classroom hours, but completely ill-equipped to deal with more than one person in the space at any given time. Harry was convinced that it was this claustrophobic room that was driving him to distraction, and not the fact that Draco was in his personal space, smelling vaguely of cinnamon, fresh parchment and aftershave.

"That's better," Draco said, smiling approvingly. "See, you just had to concentrate. Now, what comes next?"

"I add in the foxglove, stir three times clockwise, and then let it simmer for twenty-five minutes?"

"Well, clockwise if you want your cauldron to explode, anti-clockwise if you want a decent potion."

"Piss it, I should just quit now," Harry sighed dejectedly.

"No, you were close. And this is a NEWT-level potion, so it isn't meant to be easy," Draco said, trying to reassure his friend.

Harry wiped at his brow which was beading with sweat. "Don't do me any favours, Malfoy. I nearly exploded my cauldron. There's no way I'll pass this class."

"It's Draco, and no you won't pass with that attitude. Now stop being such a sook, and finish the damn potion."

Harry grimaced - he hated it when people called him out on his self-pity, though he was grateful that Draco was taking time out of his own revision period to help him. It was almost uncharacteristically nice of him, but then Harry had to remind himself that, like most people, Draco had changed after the war. In fact, he mused as he stirred in the foxglove, Draco had changed very much for the better. The boy in question currently had his back turned to Harry in order to inspect the small cabinet full of rare spices the room had to offer, so Harry took the opportunity to casually observe his new study mate.

Due to the heat of the small room, Draco had discarded his winter robes, and was wearing the regulation white school shirt which Harry deemed to be a size too small given the way it hugged his slender frame. From this position, Harry could also see that Draco's trousers were not regulation but clearly tailored specifically for him. He surmised this by observing Draco's bottom and the way the fit of the material left little to the imagination. Then, when he realised what he was looking at and to whom it belonged, he gave himself a mental slap and refocused on his potion, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. What was going on with him?

Moments later, as Harry was consulting his potions textbook, Draco noticed Harry's tomato-red face and asked if he was feeling ok.

"Your fever hasn't come back, has it?" the blonde asked with a frown.

"No. I'm fine," Harry replied, avoiding his eye.

"You're awfully red," Draco said. "Come here."

"What?"

"Let me check your temperature."

It was at this point that Harry was so convinced he was hallucinating that he fell mute and leant towards Malfoy. The latter put the back of his hand to Harry's forehead and Harry winced at the sensation, pulling back sharply. Malfoy's hand was absolutely freezing!

"Jesus Christ, Draco!" Harry said, pulling back, "Your hand is like an ice block!"

"You're a bit warm, but it's probably just the heat from the cauldron," Draco concluded, giving Harry a funny look.

"Why are your hands so cold?"

"I have very poor circulation," Draco shrugged. "Mother used to say it was because my namesake is cold-blooded so I must be too," he smiled.

Harry smiled too, as he felt the heat begin to seep away from his cheeks - it was nice to hear Malfoy's stories of his mother. His fondness and affection for his family always impressed Harry and reminded him that Draco was just like everyone else - someone who wanted to be loved.

"Have you heard from her lately?" Harry asked.

"No. The idiots at St Mungo's are completely useless. They don't let her have mail, as far as I can tell. And I haven't had the time to visit lately."

"Why don't you go this weekend?"

"Is your potion nearly done?"

Harry noticed the obvious conversational swerve, and decided not to push the envelope.

"I think it has about two minutes left."

"About two minutes, Potter?" Draco said, eyebrow raised in mock irritation.

"Sorry, _professor Malfoy_. Two minutes and thirty seconds to be precise," Harry said, giving a seated bow to Draco, who laughed in response.

That was new - laughing together. Harry quite liked it.

 

***

 

Later that evening, Harry was playing chess with Ron by the fire. Most of the other eighth years had retired to their dormitories to pack - those not staying at Hogwarts for Christmas were due to leave the next day.

"How was potions with Malfoy?" Ron asked casually.

"Frustrating. How was studying with Hermione?" Harry replied, using a pawn to take one of Ron's pawns.

"Didn't get much study done, if I'm honest," Ron grinned, waggling his eyebrows. Harry pelted a chess piece at him. "Seriously, though, do you think the potions classes will help?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I nearly exploded my cauldron, but at least I know the best way to cut up Belladonna," Harry said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"You definitely sound frustrated."

"It'll be fine. Draco's actually quite a patient teacher."

"I'm sorry, _Draco_?" Ron said, stopping halfway through moving a knight - it wriggled between his fingers and jabbed him with the lance to remind him of the game he was playing, before Ron set him back down.

"Oh, right. We agreed to first names. When it was just us. Which it isn't now," Harry said, face heating up again (it seemed to be doing that a lot of late).

"I see."

"You see what? There's nothing to see."

"You're friends," Ron shrugged.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. I mean, that's what Malfoy said we were doing - we are friends helping each other out."

"Did he indeed?" Ron said with a grin.

"Why are you laughing?" Harry frowned.

"I'm not," Ron put his hands up.

"You're about to. What's so funny?"

"You are, Harry. You've gone from hating his guts, to stalking him, to friends in a matter of weeks. It's a shock you don't get whiplash from the number of times you've changed your mind about the git."

"Yeah, well, people change. He definitely has, and for the better, I think."

Ron smiled at this, his expression soft as he regarded Harry. "And do you think you've changed?"

"I don't know," Harry replied, confused as to where the conversation was going. "I'm still crap at potions..."

"You've mellowed. You're not as uptight about everything, which is understandable as now you're not on a life and death mission against Voldemort... I think you seem more comfortable in your own skin, is all," Ron said.

Harry gave a sort of half-shrug as he didn't know what to say to that. They continued their game of chess for several minutes, in which Harry lost most of his pieces and Ron won back his queen, before the conversation picked up again.

"I'm jealous," Harry said quietly. "I'm comfortable with who I am most of the time, but I'm lonely. And I'm jealous of what you and Hermione have." He said it as though he was ashamed, and he was suddenly very thankful for the emptiness of the common room.

"You mean you want a girlfriend?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, I guess so..."

"You want a boyfriend?"

"RON!" Harry whisper-shouted indignantly.

"What? It's not like there's anything wrong with that."

"But, I mean, but I'm not... I don't know-"

"Harry, it's all fine. I've seen the dirty mags under your bed, and I've seen the way you look at some of the blokes in Seeker Weekly," Ron said, referring to his favourite quidditch publication. "If you like birds and blokes, that's fine."

"I don't know what I like, but I don't really want to talk about it," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Okay, cool. No worries," Ron said, pleased to avoid an in depth discussion about Harry's sexuality, but still wanting to help his best friend. "But are you happy?"

"Most of the time, I guess," Harry said, staring intently at the chess board.

"Is there anything that has made you happier lately?" Ron asked gently - leading the witness, Hermione would've called it. Harry knew what his answer would be if he were to speak honestly, but he didn't know if he was ready to admit certain things to himself, let alone out loud and to other people. So he shrugged. Again.

Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look, before knocking his king over - "Checkmate."

 

***

 

Harry's Dream Diary:

_This is very not good. On a scale of one to ten, where one is a small paper cut and ten is being killed by Voldemort, this is probably sitting around the cruciatus curse... that's high up on my list of very bad things._

_What is this very bad thing you may ask? Although, you wouldn't ask, would you, because you're a diary. I suppose if you were Tom Riddle's diary you might ask, but that doesn't count because it was a horcrux._

_I'm rambling. That's how not good this is. The not good thing is how I'm feeling about one Draco Malfoy..._

_I think that I am more comfortable in my own skin lately. And I think that I have a vague idea of where my life is headed. But I am jealous of couples - what Hermione and Ron have... It hurts to think that I might never find that sort of closeness with someone else. I might not find someone who comforts me and challenges me; makes me laugh when I'm feeling down, or tells me to pull my head out of my arse when I'm being self indulgent; someone to talk with and study with and go on long, rambling walks with without the need to fill the silence. I want what my parents had. That sort of bond and certainty that makes everything else seem inconsequential - something that makes any problem seem small and any achievement feel huge._

_It's a fantasy. Ridiculous. Does that even happen in real life?_

_I always thought that's what I would have with Ginny, but we fizzled out into nothing. I still don't understand what happened, there, really._

_Ron was trying to get me to open up before, and I didn't want to talk about it because I'm embarrassed. But if I can't be honest in a bloody diary, then when can I?_

_He asked if there was something that has made me happier lately. I passed on that question, but if I'm being truthful, there is. And no, it's not Christmas or the fact that there's no more Voldemort, it's something much simpler. It's that I've started to get along with someone who I'd had pegged as an enemy my whole life at Hogwarts._

_Draco Malfoy has been a thorn in my side ever since first year, but this year something's changed. He's softer, kinder, more considerate. He's still sarcastic and witty and can be mean when he wants to be, but now he's making the effort to develop friendships with people. He's not relying on his name to get by. Like the rest of us, I think he's been humbled by the war. And it's so refreshing._

_This is the boy whose friendship I rejected on our very first day here, and who I've been obsessed with ever since. It feels weird to admit that, but I have been. I always thought he was up to something - always had to get to the bottom of it, to understand him and his schemes._

_Now there are no schemes to get to the bottom of. All I want is to understand him better. And I do. We've become friends - there's no other way of putting it. He's helping me with potions, I enjoy spending time with him, we have good banter. He and I are finally on a first name basis (when there's no one else around)._

_But that's not the problem. The problem is that I'm not sure my feelings are entirely platonic. Today, in our potions tute, I accidentally checked him out. I stared right at his... well, his bottom... and couldn't look away. It was mesmerising. And his shoulders through his thin shirt... And the way he's let his hair grow a bit longer so that it flops into his eyes sometimes - that was a good idea. And his smile. Usually it's a smirk, but lately I've managed to get him to genuinely smile a few times and it's blinding. Fuck!_

_I've been in denial about this and I still am. I'm never, ever telling anyone, let alone HIM how I'm feeling and thinking right now. But Draco Malfoy is extremely good looking - you'd have to be legally blind to miss that - and I am very much attracted to him. And I suppose that makes me bisexual._

_But I'm worried by how much the value of my day is affected by his presence. This is the very bad and not at all good thing. I don't want to rely on Draco Malfoy._

_It's pathetic, and I'm going to go obliviate myself now. And tomorrow, at Hogsmeade, I'll do it properly with firewhiskey. Drink away my feelings - I'm sure that's what Sirius would've done._

_Goodnight diary, you useless piece of crap._


	9. December 20

When Harry awoke from a set of confusing and Malfoy-centric dreams on Saturday morning, it was to the realisation that there were only five more sleeps until Christmas. His stomach gave an excited flop. Even though he was well past the age when children should be excited about the holiday, Christmases at Hogwarts had always seemed magical to him. In his first year, he'd been shocked to find a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed. After years of neglect at the hands of the Dursleys, he'd been overwhelmed by the feeling of being cared for. And it didn't matter that he was an eighth year, Christmas was still something he was unequivocally and unapologetically excited about. 

The only part he wasn't really looking forward to was the fact that he still hadn't worked out a Kris Kringle present for Draco. Given the confusing and persistent thoughts he was having about the Slytherin, the pressure was even greater to purchase the perfect gift. So Harry decided to write a list - things he knew about Draco Malfoy. Perhaps this would help sort him out. After all, today was the last Hogsmeade visit before Christmas so it really was now or never. He sat down with a piece of parchment and a quill and began to write:

Things I know about Draco Malfoy:

1\. He's in Slytherin and his favourite colours are green, grey and imperial blue. I know this because of the clothes he wears. Sounds weird when I write that

2\. He likes to read. The other week he was reading a muggle book about King Arthur, so I'm assuming he likes fantasy OR the classics. Perhaps a book would be a good present?

3\. He's really good at potions. There's nothing I could give him that he doesn't already have, though. I guess a nice cauldron would be seen as too expensive. I don't want to go over the top.

4\. He is taking Muggle Studies, which suggests he's at least interested in how the muggle world works. I think it's because he wants to educate himself and not be taken in by a supremacist like Voldemort again, but maybe he's interested in spark plugs or televisions or rubber ducks like Mr Weasley. More investigation required.

5\. He misses his mum. I can relate.

6\. His hands are always cold. He says it's poor circulation. Maybe some nice gloves?

7\. He has a sweet tooth. Anyone who has ever met the git would know this. And, rumour has it, he has a stash of Honeydukes chocolates under his bed. Don't know how true that would be this year as no one is at home to send him sweets. I should find out what his favourite is - that might be a nice present.

8\. He loves talking about quidditch but, to my knowledge, hasn't touched a broom since we've been back at Hogwarts. I mean, I don't know everything Malfoy's done since we've been back but my stalking was pretty thorough, and I don't think he's flown. If I had to guess, I'd say it had something to do with what happened in the Room of Requirement with Crabbe. Either way, broom stuff is out of the question. I could get him a subscription to Seeker Weekly, though Ron seems to think the only reason I like it is for the fit guys in the pictures... I wonder if Draco would like looking at them too. Not that that's why I read it. Anyway.

9\. His shirts are all a size too small to possibly be comfortable.

10\. His trousers are all tailored, rather than standard Hogwarts-issue. Posh git.

11\. He sneers less, lately. I think he's more humble and more keen to please or help, rather than impress others.

12\. He is considerate of other people. I saw him comforting Goyle the other day after Charms class. I don't know what it was all about, and I ducked into an alcove before they could see me, but Goyle was crying and Draco had his arm around his shoulder and was saying things too quietly for me to hear.

13\. He is more patient than I would ever have given him credit for. I mean, he is giving me - the world's slowest student - private tutorials in potions. The man deserves a medal for that alone.

14\. He wants to get top marks in all his NEWTs so that he can get a good job, especially now that the family name is mud. He's thinking of living and working abroad, which I think is foolish - why would you want to be anywhere other than here? But I guess he just wants to put some distance between himself and the war. And his reputation, which I get, I really do, I just hope it's not going to take him too far away.

15\. He likes going for walks at night when there's no one else awake. I suppose Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder would achieve a similar effect... No, that's a stupid idea for a present. It just reminds me of when he stomped on my face and broke my nose at the start of sixth year.

16\. He has a wicked sense of humour. Observational, mostly, but also sarcasm. I know they say it's the lowest form of wit, but it also happens to be the funniest. I sometimes wonder what would've happened if I'd agreed to be friends with him when he offered in first year. Would we have shared inside jokes? Would Hogwarts have been a slightly more entertaining place to be by the grace of his snide (but very entertaining) comments which, perhaps, wouldn't have all been directed at me? I mean, he was a bully, so that's a ridiculous train of thought for me to follow. But, yes, now I find him very entertaining. And though he was shy at the start of term, the more time we spend together, the more I feel I'm getting to see the real Draco - the more he's opening up and being himself around me. And he is funny.

17\. He doesn't drink alcohol, as far as I can tell. I think it might be part of him wanting to stay in control of what he says and does. It's a shame, because a bottle of Ogden's finest, or maybe some elf wine would be a really easy gift to choose. Maybe he'll have a drink at Hogsmeade today. We're all going - one last hurrah before people leave for the Christmas break. Actually, I'd better go now or I'll be late.

This list didn't really help narrow it down - I guess I will have to play it by ear.

***

Ron had already gone ahead with Seamus and Dean, because he wanted to get Hermione a present without her being there, and Hermione herself had said she'd come along later because she just wanted to finish a transfiguration essay, so Harry found himself loitering in the eighth year common room, waiting for Draco Malfoy to walk with. How odd he would've found this at the start of the term!

Harry was sitting in an armchair by the fire when Draco descended the staircase, Gregory Goyle in tow.

"Hey Malfoy, Goyle," Harry said with an awkward half-wave. "Coming to Hogsmeade today?"

"Actually, Potter, I was thinking of staying here with Greg," Draco replied, not looking too happy about it. "He's going home this afternoon so I thought we'd spend some time together."

Harry couldn't stop the brief look of disappointment that flickered across his face. "Oh, okay. Cool. Well, I guess I'll see you later. Merry Christmas, Goyle."

"Merry Christmas," Goyle grunted, not impolitely.

Harry then pulled himself up, buttoned his cloak and made a hasty exit, feeling Malfoy's eyes on his back as he left.

***

It wasn't as though Draco hadn't wanted to go to Hogsmeade with Harry - he very much did, he was surprised to realise - but he had wanted to spend some time with Goyle before he left for Christmas. The poor boy was going home to his mother, badly injured during the war, and his grandparents, who were still extremely prejudiced people. His father was in Azkaban, as were many others, so Goyle wasn't really looking forward to it. Draco was there to lend a sympathetic ear and a kind word where possible. After all, they'd both lost a best friend to Fiendfyre and their fathers to prison, so they had a lot in common.

After exchanging gifts, and the promise of at least one floo call, Goyle left the castle and Draco was left to his own devices. It was only midday, and he knew that his new associates (was it too soon to call them friends?) would only just be settling in to lunch at Hogsmeade. He could probably catch them if he left soon.

Instead, he decided to pen his mother another letter that she was unlikely to receive.

***

_Dear Mother,_

_How goes the dreaded St Mungo's? I do hope they're treating you well and that you are on the mend._

_Only five sleeps until Christmas. I wish we were all at the Manor - Christmas used to be so lovely there. Do you remember the time we put hats on the peacocks? They were not at all pleased with the sticking charms! Or the time father played us some traditional carols on the piano, after the party had finished?_

_I know there's no going back, so it doesn't do to dwell on the past, but those were happy times._

_You're probably never going to get this letter. Perhaps I should take this opportunity to be completely honest with you. I mean, you know most of my secrets. For example, you know that I'm unlikely to agree to an arranged marriage and you know why. You know that my interests have been mostly hypothetical. I shan't go into too much detail, because you're still my mother and there are some things you simply do not need to know._

_But, lately, I think I'm starting to realise what I want because of a non-hypothetical person. A real person, I mean. This is my rather rambling way of saying I think I like someone._

_And it's ridiculous and unrealistic and nothing will ever come of it because he likes girls and because he's well out of my league. But I need to acknowledge what I'm currently feeling if I'm ever going to get past it._

_It's Harry._

_It's always been Harry._

_There's just something about him, something magnetic. Charismatic. I mean, he's a complete dunce sometimes, but he's funny and talented and strong. So strong. After everything he's been through and he's still willing to forgive people and give them another chance..._

_And he's funny. In a surprisingly sassy and cutting way. Just from time to time._

_This is all redundant because, by all accounts, he's straight. And we're just friends. And that should be enough for me. I mean - it's brilliant. It's what I've wanted since I was a first year and first discovered that the great Harry Potter was going to Hogwarts. It was hero worship that became rivalry, and now it's turned to something else completely. And this friendship is... it's more that I thought I deserved. After everything I've done... It should be enough._

_It will have to be enough for me because in what universe would Harry and I be remotely compatible?_

_I don't think I will send this letter after all. It's too much of a confession. And utter nonsense at that. So I have an infatuation with Saint Potter. Who doesn't? I won't let it jeopardise our friendship or the progress I've made this year. I won't._

_I think I'll burn this._

***

It was around two o'clock and Harry had completed most of his shopping for Christmas. He'd bought bits and pieces that he might give as his Kris Kringle, but he'd been too indecisive and had elected to make final choices closer to the day.

He only had one shop left to visit - Honeydukes.

Without any great purpose, Harry began to browse the shelves of the sweet shop, walking past giant glass jars filled with colourful treats. There were sugar mice, fizzing whizbees and boxes of Bertie Bott's everywhere, but Harry just couldn't make up his mind. He'd paused to decide between blocks of chocolate - peppermint, caramel, milk, dark, popping candy, etc - when a familiar and unexpected voice rang out behind him.

"Chocolate cravings, then, scar head?"

Harry turned around, unable to suppress a grin when he saw Draco there, brushing snow off the shoulders of his expensive-looking cloak.

"I thought you were staying at the castle," Harry replied.

"I was, but Greg's gone home and I got bored. Where's the rest of your gang?"

"I had some shopping to do so I left them in the Three Broomsticks," Harry said, gesturing to the small pile of bags he'd placed at his feet.

"Very extravagant, Potter. What did you get?" Draco said, trying to peer into the bags. Harry quickly stepped in front of them to block his view.

"Uh-uh, not allowed to look. You don't know that there's not a present for you in there," Harry smirked. Draco was slightly taken aback, and Harry enjoyed wiping that superior look from the Slytherin's face.

"What? Do we do presents now?"

"Well, you did bring me breakfast in bed. We're practically bonded for life," Harry joked, but balked at the look of discomfort on Draco's face. He backtracked. "It's fine. I was kidding. I haven't gotten you a present, so don't feel obligated to get me one."

"Oh, okay..."

"Why are you here, anyway? Come to stock up on Christmas snacks?" Harry said, changing the subject.

"Something like that."

"Favourite sweet?" Harry asked, gesturing to the walls of sugary snacks.

"Favourite sweet!" Draco replied indignantly, "That's like asking me to choose a favourite child!"

"Well, given that you don't have children-"

"Hardly the point, Potter. What you fail to understand is that there are different sweets for different occasions."

Harry couldn't help but snort at this. Indignant and slightly precious Draco on a rant was one of his favourite things. "Pray, do enlighten me."

"Well, obviously sugar quills are best for study, though I think that sugar mice are better at keeping you awake when your three feet into a six foot essay. Fizzing Whizbees are for special occasions - maybe the night before your birthday or at a party. Droobles is never acceptable. Chewing gum is for plebs and peasants-"

Harry snorted again.

"You might want to get that nose looked at, Potter. I think it's developed a fault."

"What about chocolate? Surely you have a favourite chocolate."

"Of course. Dark. 70% cocoa. Single origin. Slightly bitter, like me."

"I've seen you eating milk chocolate, though," Harry said with a frown.

"Well, no one ever says no to chocolate, Potter. Are you insane?"

Harry openly laughed at this, forcing Draco to smile along.

"Okay, then, 70% dark it is," Harry said, grabbing a bar from the pile, and taking a milk chocolate with popping candy for himself.

"What? You don't have to get me chocolate, Harry," Draco said, trailing after him.

"Why not? Consider it a Christmas gift," Harry replied, handing over his sickles to the lady at the register.

"I didn't get you anything," Draco whined, and Harry couldn't help but be amused by his childishness.

"Well, for future reference, I like sugar quills, Bertie Botts and any type of gum. Because I am a pleb," he said, handing Draco the chocolate.

"Where to next?"

"I think everyone's probably still at the Three Broomsticks," Harry replied, "Fancy a drink?"

"I don't know..."

Harry couldn't tell whether the resistance was due to the fact that it sounded like Harry had just asked Draco Malfoy out, or because Draco was not a big fan of that particular establishment after having imperioused the landlady.

Hoping it was the latter, which was much easier to address, Harry said "I'm sure Rosemerta won't mind. Forgive and forget."

"But-"

"And you're with a bunch of Gryffindors - you can't be completely evil," Harry joked, but it fell flat. "Come on, Draco. It's Christmas and you're with friends; you won't be unwelcome," Harry promised.

"Fine," Draco sighed, "but if I get hexed because of you, don't think I won't pay you back."

"I'm sure you will," Harry replied, steering Draco towards the pub.

 

It was bustling and loud when they opened the heavy door, but Harry spotted his friends almost immediately. They were in a booth about halfway down the room, and already Harry could tell that some of his friends were mildly inebriated. On a Saturday afternoon, no less!

Ron was pink-cheeked, and had his arm casually slung over Hermione's shoulders; Seamus was gesticulating wildly, and getting much laughter from Dean, Neville and Parvati, while Luna was sitting in the corner with Ginny, smiling widely and sipping delicately on a drink that appeared to be emitting purple smoke.

"Harry, over here!" Ginny waved, and Harry, giving Draco a shove in the lower back, threaded his way through the crowd to the booth.

"Hey, Malfoy," Neville said pleasantly, wriggling over to make room for the two boys. Draco sat himself down between Longbottom and Harry, who had Dean on his other side, and had to remind himself that he got on with these people and that they were no longer at odds.

"How'd the Christmas shopping go, Harry?" Ron said with a knowing smirk.

"Fine, thanks, Ron," Harry replied, Draco noticing something unspoken passing between them.

"I'm getting the next round," Seamus announced, "Same again?"

Everyone nodded, except Hermione who said she'd had enough, thank you.

"Harry, Malfoy? Firewhiskey?"

"If that's what everyone else is having?" Harry nodded.

"At this time of day?" Malfoy said, eyebrows raised.

"I had Butterbeer, but I'm the exception," Hermione chipped in.

"You're getting a Firewhiskey, Malfoy, and no buts!" Seamus said merrily, before shuffling off to the bar.

"Someone's going to have to cut Seamus off soon. He's about three drinks ahead of the rest of us," Dean grinned.

"Who knew that Gryffindor bravery extended to self-destructive drinking?" Draco muttered, just so Harry could hear. He snorted and shoved Draco in the ribs to shut him up. 

Their drinks arrived shortly and the conversation grew progressively more lewd.

"And then she said 'I'll let you into my chamber of secrets'," Neville said, throwing his hands up. "I mean, really? That's your pick up line?"

"In rather poor taste, if you ask me," Ginny said. "The worst one for me was Michael Corner. We were just about to-"

"NO! No, stop it! I don't want to hear it!" Ron shouted, pressing his hands to his ears, and causing everyone else at the table to burst into laughter. Harry and Draco had caught up (not the best idea on an empty stomach) and Harry was now feeling pleasantly warm and tingly.

"Well, then you won't want to hear about the time Ginny and I went up to the Astronomy Tower and-" Dean said, resulting in Ron throwing his beanie (the only item he had to hand apart from a glass) at him. More raucous laughter ensued. Even Draco was amused - his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, too many people in a small space, and laughter.

"Right, I think that's just about enough for one day-" Hermione tried, before being shouted down by the others. "Okay, okay, we'll stay a bit longer, but we do need to be back for dinner. I dare say most of you could use some food in your stomach."

"They do food here. Anyone fancy some chips?" Harry asked, getting up to go to the bar.

"I'll help," Dean said, following him.

 

"Three bowls of chips, and two garlic breads please," Harry said politely. He wasn't drunk by any means, but definitely thought some food would help the slightly dizzy feeling he had in his head.

"So, Malfoy, then?" Dean said, leaning his elbow on the bar.

"What about Malfoy?"

"He seems nice."

"Yeah, he is," Harry replied with a confused frown.

"So... are you..." Dean raised his eyebrows and tilted his head as if to encourage a confession.

"Am I what?"

"Harry, you know what I mean," Dean replied. "Are you two an item?"

"WHAT?"

"What do you mean 'what'? Silly question? You've been spending a lot of time together."

"We're friends now, that's all."

"Oh, okay. Sorry!" Dean said, hands up defensively, "I just assumed."

Harry felt a panic rising in his chest. "Why did you assume?"

"I don't know. I guess it's just the way you are with each other." At Harry's confused and, frankly, frightened expression, Dean elaborated. "It's just you sort of fit together. You've been a bit on the outer this year with Ron and Hermione, and now you seem happier. When Malfoy's around, you talk more. You seem to sense what he wants before he does. For example - who's the garlic bread for?"

Harry just shook his head. Nothing Dean had said could be interpreted only as romantic - these were things friends did for each other. Draco brought Harry breakfast and tutored him in potions, Harry went on walks with him in the evening sometimes if they felt like getting away from the crowd. Draco teased Harry for his taste in clothing, Harry teased Draco for his pretension. Weren't these things that friends did?

On pointing this out to Dean, the latter nodded his head. "Yeah, I guess so. I just wouldn't have picked you two as ending up friends. But he's an alright bloke, I suppose."

"He is," Harry agreed, glad he'd diffused any potential whispering about he and Draco, especially when he wasn't one hundred percent sure what he was feeling yet. "And I'm not... you know. I don't think..." he added, with a slight frown.

Dean just clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "You are what you are and it's no one else's business. Sorry for being a nosy prat. But it was either going to be me or Seamus who asked, and he doesn't really have the tact."

"Has my sexuality been a topic up for discussion lately?" Harry bridled.

"No, not at all. But the Malfoy thing is an interesting development."

"Hmmm."

"And whoever does end up with him will at least have something nice to look at," Dean grinned.

"Wait, are you-"

"A shirt-lifter? No, but I can appreciate someone's aesthetic," Dean shrugged. "Rumour has it Malfoy is, though."

"Is what?"

"A shirt-lifter. You know? Malfoy is bent."

Harry hated that terminology but persisted. "You mean he likes men."

"That is the general understanding of homosexuality, yes, Harry," Dean smiled, feeling a bit sorry for his friend's general ignorance.

"I didn't know that."

"Well I doubt it's something that would come up between new friends," Dean said, "though there is less stigma around it in the wizarding world than there is in the muggle world."

Harry didn't reply as he was lost in his thoughts. Did this change anything? Just because he could appreciate that Draco was attractive, the fact that the blonde fancied blokes didn't mean that he would be interested in Harry. And would Harry even want him to be?

Was it hard for Draco to keep this part of himself a secret? And how would Dean know about it? Was it another bit of common knowledge that Harry had just missed, and how had he missed it if he was such a good stalker and observer of Draco's habits? This led Harry to wonder, again, whether being an auror was the right path for him, if he couldn't even determine the sexuality of someone who was quickly becoming a good friend. 

These thoughts were interrupted by their food being ready and the two of them carrying it back to the booth. The conversation had strayed to quidditch while they were away, creating a heated discussion between Ron and Draco on one side, and Ginny and Seamus on the other. The others could only look on in exasperation.

"No, you don't understand," Draco said slowly. "There's no way that the Arrows would ever beat the Cannons, even if their new manager used to run Kenmare Kestrals."

"He's right," Ron nodded emphatically.

"But the Kestrals are the best team in the league," Seamus cried, throwing his hands up.

"Apart from Holyhead, they've got the best chasers and a strong seeker," Ginny added. "All that can be attributed to good management and a strong reputation. Therefore, the Arrows will have the same success."

"No, no, no, you're completely wrong. The Cannons may've been bottom of the ladder for the last few years, but they're on the up and up. And the Arrows have such an old team. Did you see the match last August? Gregory Cotton was half asleep after three hours looking for the snitch. It's no small wonder he didn't fall off his broom!" Draco replied, to nods from both Ron and Neville.

"Might we interject?" Dean asked, "We come bearing gifts."

"Thanks guys," Neville said, gratefully grabbing a piping hot chip, "Ouch! Careful. Hot!"

"Ooh, garlic bread," Draco grinned, feeling quite comfortable in his relatively new surrounds. He'd never quite felt this level of camaraderie with his Slytherin compatriots, so he was surprised and thankful for how the Gryffindors seemed to conduct themselves and work to include him in their revels. He'd been quite nervous about entering the Three Broomsticks but he had known instinctively that, with Harry, he would be fine.

"Eat up, everyone, we should probably go back to the castle soon," Harry said, grabbing some chips for himself.

*** 

Forty minutes later the rag-tag group of students, in varying stages of drunkenness, were making their way back to the school. They were just onto school grounds when one of them threw the first snowball and it hit Ron square in the back of the head.

"Ouch! Bloody! Who did that? They'll pay!" Ron said immediately, disentangling his hand from Hermione's and bending down to scoop up some snow.

"Oh hell, I knew spending time with you lot would end in a snowball fight," Draco whined, still slightly tipsy and not at all in the mood to get cold and wet.

"Well, then you could've avoided it!" Neville grinned, sprinting past him to take cover behind a bush.

Draco saw why a moment later.

It was complete anarchy. Snow was flying left and right, some enchanted, some by hand, and there seemed to be no organisation whatsoever - no teams, just every man for himself.

Seamus had tried to enchant some snowballs to pelt Dean, but had instead created a small explosion, leaving him one eyebrow short in typical Seamus fashion. Hermione had charmed snowballs to hit Ron in the back every time he dashed out from behind his hiding place.

"I thought you loved me! Traitor!" Echoed across the school grounds, forcing laughter from the rest of them. Draco couldn't help but chuckle at this, though he was still reluctant to join in - dignity was his thing.

Until he got a heap of snow dumped on his head by none other than Harry James Potter, who had crept up behind him like a thief in the night.

"What the hell, Potter?"

Harry just threw his head back and laughed, eyes sparkling. Draco shook his head like a dog with water in its ears, only causing Harry to laugh harder. "You're such a ponce, it's only snow!"

"I detest being cold and wet, as you well know," Draco said, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, yes, but that's the price you pay for lunch with the Gryffindors."

"You'll pay for that."

"You have to catch me first," Harry grinned, sprinting off towards the quidditch pitch. Draco, not remotely interested in any of his other associate-come-friends and their snow-related endeavours, tore off after him, bending to scoop snow as he ran and throwing it with all his might at Harry's back. They weren't far from the others when Harry stopped abruptly, turned, and threw three snowballs at Draco in quick succession. Draco only had time to think 'where did they come from?' before he was hit in the face, neck and shoulder by the icy missiles. While Harry was bending over to make more, Draco did the only thing he could think of and lunged at him, knocking them both to the ground.

The force of it made them both tumble sideways into a convenient snow bank, with Draco ending up on top, pinning on of Harry's arms down with his left hand, and shoving snow into his face with his right. Harry had been laughing but then started coughing, no doubt because he had snow in his mouth, so gave his attacker a hearty shove so that they were both lying on the ground next to each other, laughing then breathing heavily, looking up at the darkening sky. They were on their backs, arms slightly away from their bodies as if they were about to make snow angels. There was a pause, during which they both caught their breath.

"I'm going to miss it here," Harry said quietly.

"Why?"

Harry turned his head to face Draco, who was still looking up at the sky. "Lots of reasons." He looked back skyward. This time Draco turned his head to observe Harry, hoping the slight crunch of snow hadn't given him away. Harry's face was flushed from the cold and from the exertion of the snowball fight, but he looked a bit melancholy.

"Hogwarts is your home," Draco said.

Harry turned to face Draco, expression inscrutable. They lay in the snow staring at each other for a few moments, the whoops and cries of their friends in the background. Harry felt that this was a significant moment. He knew that he could probably ask Draco anything at this point and he'd get the unfiltered truth. It was unsettling and exhilarating at the same time.

He glanced down and realised that their hands were very close to one another and he felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of simply taking Draco's hand in his own. Draco followed his gaze to their nearly-touching fingers, then flickered back to Harry's face. Those green eyes had darkened and had an intense, determined look about them, something which made Draco's stupid heart skip a beat. Experimentally, he stretched out his fingers towards Harry slightly. Harry followed suit, his long fingers unfurling, reaching gently towards Draco. Their skin brushed together, both sets of eyes on their hands.

Harry was sure he felt an electric shock run through his whole body, starting at that point of contact and running all the way to his toes. Draco inhaled quietly, feeling his traitorous heart thudding in his chest as he brought his eyes back to Harry's. The back of Harry's fingers rubbed gently across Draco's hand, as Harry took in Draco's slightly-open mouth and wide, uncertain eyes. It was fascinating.

Draco had no idea what he was doing, lying in the snow, with Potter of all people, touching hands in a way that seemed far more intimate than touching hands should. And yet, he wanted to do more. So he tentatively opened his palm and drew Harry's hand into his. It was such a simple gesture, but for him it held a lot of meaning. He'd now made himself vulnerable, something he was loathe to be. But, for Harry, he seemed to be making all of the exceptions.

Harry let out a small sigh. Clearly holding hands with a boy alone in the snow was a big deal for him, too, especially considering who the boy was. Their eyes were both on their hands, and this moment seemed to them both one of the most peaceful yet stimulating things to happen to either of them, which made utterly no sense. They made utterly no sense.

And yet...

Draco gently squeezed Harry's fingers, and Harry's heart gave an annoying sputter.

"Draco-" he began, barely more than a whisper, before-

"Oi, Harry! Where are you?" Ron's voice came from nearby.

As if they'd both been dealt an electric shock, Draco and Harry dropped each others hands and sprung to their feet, Harry in a rather clumsy sort of way.

"Here, Ron!" Harry replied, hoping that his best friend couldn't read what had just sort of, nearly happened just by looking at his face.

"We're heading in. Seamus accidentally exploded another snowball, and Hermione thinks he might need to see Pomfrey. See you at dinner?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture.

"Alright, Malfoy?" Ron asked, passing the blonde.

"Never better, Weasley," Malfoy replied, dusting snow off his cloak as he led the way back to the castle, leaving a perplexed, slightly aroused and very confused Harry in his wake.


	10. December 21

Harry spent most of Sunday in his room, avoiding people. Well, one person in particular. He had no idea what had passed between he and Draco the previous evening, and he didn't want to discuss it, least of all with the boy in question.

Instead, he focused on finishing all his holiday homework in one day. And he was making rather good progress, too. Draco had been right - sugar mice halfway through and essay really did help with focus.

Draco.

Harry was annoyed with himself for not seeming to be able to have coherent thought without his damned brain bringing up that damned blonde Slytherin. What on earth was wrong with him? He tried writing in his dream diary, but it did nothing:

 

 _I fancy Draco Malfoy. I am apparently bisexual for Draco. Of all the classrooms in all the schools in all of wizarding Britain, he had to be a permanently annoying fixture in mine..._

_But what do I do about it? I'm a Gryffindor - I'm pretty sure I'm contractually obligated to be brave and act on this... I was nearly Slytherin, though. Maybe I can just repress it until it goes away. Maintain an air of normality._

_But last night wasn't normal. It was electric._

_It was touching hands, for fucks sake! Hardly ground-breaking gayness!_

_Ignore it and it will go away. You don't want to mess up a perfectly good friendship with someone whose company you genuinely enjoy, especially when friends are so few and you'll be leaving Hogwarts in a few months. You do still want him as a friend, don't you? Then carry on as normal, Harry. You can do it._

_Fuck._

***

Sunday saw Draco Malfoy spend most of his time in his bedroom, too. He was writing the transfiguration essay that Hermione had completed the previous day, and was doing a fairly good job of distracting himself until around about lunchtime, when his stomach reminded him that the last thing he'd eaten had been garlic bread the previous afternoon.

He'd kept himself to himself after what he'd dubbed 'the hand-holding incident' because he was absolutely baffled by the whole thing. Harry had initiated the contact, to his recollection, but Draco had actually grabbed his hand and squeezed it - what was that all about? Draco loathed showing his vulnerability (something his father had drummed into him that he was never supposed to do) and to expose himself to any sort of ridicule was unacceptable.

The fact that Harry was the one with the ammunition to now wound him - Harry, who'd become very important to Draco over the past few weeks; who'd been the focus of his teenage fantasies (if he was being completely honest with himself); who'd saved the wizarding world from certain destruction and therefore had the admiration of most everyone - that was something he couldn't accept.

More importantly, rejection was not something Draco could tolerate. And he was sure if he and Harry were to discuss the incident, Draco would be rejected in the most painful and humiliating way possible. This was precisely why Slytherins never wore their hearts on their sleeves! And Draco cursed himself for forgetting this.

However, upon deciding that food was more important than avoiding potential minor embarrassment, Draco left his room and made his way down to the kitchens. At least he was less likely to run into Potter there than in the Great Hall... or so he thought.

But, of course, after tickling the pear and entering the kitchens who was the only person sitting at a lone table, surrounded by overly helpful house-elves? Harry freaking Potter.

Draco had to make a snap decision - turn on his heel and make a break for it, or stay and brazen it out. He was really very hungry, so he chose the latter.

"Potter," he said with a curt nod of the head.

The use of his surname stung Harry, and he instinctively knew that whatever had happened the previous evening had sufficiently weirded Draco out and now they were back to square one. Unless he did something about it. He was a Gryffindor, after all!

"Draco," Harry replied, "Come down for some lunch?"

Draco, who hadn't been expecting Harry to be so civil, nodded.

"Why don't you sit over here?"

Draco knew that he couldn't outright refuse the request, because Harry would push the matter and they'd end up discussing the incident, so instead he sat down silently.

"Would Master Draco be liking some luncheon?" squeaked a tiny elf in an immaculately pressed tea towel.

"Yes, please," Draco replied. "Vegetable pasty?"

"Right away, sir," the elf bowed low.

Harry, who'd been observing Draco over his corned beef sandwich, noted the dark circles under his eyes and the slightly ruffled hair. Other than that, the boy looked completely normal. And just as attractive as ever, Harry was disappointed to realise.

"Stop staring," Draco said, without even looking at Harry. They were sat on opposite sides of a large-ish table, but the Slytherin was pointedly looking in a different direction.

"I'm not staring. I'm just looking," Harry said with a shrug. "You look tired."

"McGonagall's essay," Draco replied. "Utter torture."

"Haven't started," Harry replied. "I've been doing Flitwick's one. Thank goodness Hermione's already done the research so I can borrow her books."

That's it, Harry, he thought to himself, be normal. Talk about normal things. Don't look at his hands. Talk about school. Good. You can do this.

Unfortunately his inner monologue gave him a false sense of hope. Malfoy sat silently in front of him, now examining his own fingernails, apparently.

This is it, then, Harry thought. I'll have to bring it up-

"I'm sorry about last night," Draco said abruptly.

"Huh?" Harry said, taken aback.

"I was a little tipsy and I'm not quite sure why things... happened. But I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable," Draco bit out, still not looking at Harry, but rather determinedly in the direction of the house elves preparing the food.

 

There! Draco had done it - he'd managed the situation and prevented his heart from being stomped on by Potter. He silently awarded himself ten house points.

 

"I wasn't uncomfortable," Harry said, surprised by his own honesty. That got Draco's attention. Grey eyes locked on green and suddenly the air was just as charged with electricity as it had been the previous evening.

"You weren't?" Draco all but whispered. Harry shook his head, a voice in the back of his mind absently wondering if he'd given leave of his senses (which, apparently, he had).

"It was... different," Harry said, tentatively, "But nice."

Draco nearly fell off his seat in shock. His heart was thumping so heavily in his chest that he was surprised Harry couldn't hear it.

"I'm not quite sure I know what you're saying," he said.

Harry let out a small, nervous chuckle. "Well, that makes two of us."

"Harry-" Draco began, but he was interrupted by the house elf bringing him his food.

"A pasty for Master Draco!" She squeaked with a flourish. "Please do let Trixie know if you will be needing anything else." And she bowed out of the situation.

Unfortunately for Draco and Harry, her interruption seemed to have broken whatever intense spell seemed to be forcing them both to be honest. The tension and urgency between them seemed to have dissipated completely. When Draco looked back at Harry, he could see that a wall had already gone up. The tips of his ears and his cheeks were tinted red, as though he was embarrassed by what he'd said, and Draco knew well and truly that the moment had passed for now. He did allow himself a flicker of hope, though, as their conversation returned to the more mundane and safe topic of school - Harry had said holding hands with him had been nice.


	11. December 23

It was now only two sleeps until Christmas Day, and Harry was in a bit of a pickle. Over the last few days he'd realised that he was, indeed, bisexual, that he was very much interested in Draco Malfoy, and that he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

They'd almost broached the topic of their handholding at lunch two days prior, but Harry had lost his nerve at the last minute ("bottled it" was what Ron had called it, when Harry had confessed all), and Draco seemed unwilling to push the topic. Hermione said this was because he was giving Harry space to work things out for himself. Ron thought it was because Malfoy was a coward and probably a bit thick. Harry thought it was a combination of all three, and he didn't know why this unsettled him so much.

They'd had another private tutorial in the cramped potions room on Monday afternoon, but Draco had been a complete professional. Neither of them had mentioned 'the moment' (as Harry had dubbed it) and though there was tension, it was difficult to say whether it was sexual in nature, or due to the fact that Harry's potion had filled the room with a foul-smelling odour, causing Draco to rue the day he'd agreed to help teach him. Harry could definitely recognise that there were a lot of things going unsaid between them, but he honestly didn't know how to proceed. Especially since things had escalated so quickly. It had barely been a month since he'd started talking to Draco as an equal, and now... well! Talking wasn't all he wanted to do with him.

So, at three o'clock on the morning of the 23rd, he decided to go for a fly. He grabbed his broom, his invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map before heading out to the quidditch pitch. After a few laps in the crisp December air, Harry's head felt much clearer.

So he liked boys and girls - so what? So he had a crush on one of his friends - big deal! Everything would work out, Harry decided, because it was Christmas. And if it didn't, then he could run away and live with the giants. It was a perfect plan, really. The only thing left to do was buck up and tell Draco that he had the tiniest, most insignificant crush on him and would he please like to go out for dinner some time. And if he was wrong about Draco returning those feelings - which he doubted after talking to Ron, Hermione and, well, several other people - then that was that, and no harm done... except to his ego, his reputation and his mental health...

Harry shrugged to himself, feeling exceptionally light-hearted - if anything is worth making yourself look a prat for, it's... well, he wasn't going to say love, that would be far too soon. But he knew what he meant.

Upon landing, Harry cast a cursory eye over the map to make sure he wasn't going to run into Filch or any prefects on duty, when he noticed a single solitary dot on the Astronomy Tower.

Of course it was Draco.

It was now nearing four o'clock, and the friend part of Harry's brain was wondering if he could help. Without really thinking it through properly, he jumped back on his broom and flew up to the tower.

 

When he got there, he saw Draco sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the balcony, cloak wrapped tightly around him, staring into the distance.

"Draco?" Harry said, snapping the boy out of his reverie.

"What are you doing here?" Draco said, vaguely turning his head in Harry's direction, voice sounding a bit rough.

"I was just about to ask you the same question," Harry quipped, trying to bring some levity to the conversation. When Draco didn't reply, Harry moved to sit next to him. "I couldn't sleep so I went flying."

"I had a nightmare," Draco said flatly. He was ashamed to admit this out loud, but it had felt so real and he was glad that Harry was the one to find him.

"What about, if you don't mind my asking?" Harry said.

Draco sighed, glancing at Harry then back out at the starry sky. "My mother."

He shuddered, and Harry realised that he was probably freezing. Now that he'd stopped exercising, he was starting to feel the cold as well, so he conjured a bright blue flame and placed it between them to help Draco thaw out a bit.

"She's in St Mungo's, and I dreamt about that. What they were doing to her. What new and awful treatments they could be using on her," Malfoy said, an angry frown forming on his face. "Just because she's married to a Death Eater. They'd take it out on her, you know. Experiments, torture..."

"I'm sure they wouldn't do that, not really," Harry said, though he wasn't at all sure. War affected people in different ways. What if someone at the hospital had lost a husband, a wife, a child to Voldemort and his cronies? He could see that Draco's fears were probably somewhat valid.

"It was real enough in this dream," Draco said, darkly. "Bastards."

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that, so he simply sat in silence waiting for Draco to speak again. When his breathing had evened out and the frown had lessened, Draco said, "I just wish I could see her. Just speak to her and check that she's all right."

"Why can't you?"

"It was part of the agreement I signed when coming back to school. I'm not to leave the grounds except to go to Hogsmeade when approved. And if I want to leave during holidays, I go into auror custody. Until a formal review of my case, after I graduate."

Harry was taken aback. "But you were cleared of any charges. I was at your trial."

"I know. You spoke on my behalf," he smiled slightly. "Saint Potter, always to the rescue."

"It wasn't a rescue. I was just being honest. You had very little choice in what you did during the war. It really wasn't your fault, and you certainly didn't deserve to go to Azkaban for it!"

Draco looked at Harry as he gave his impassioned speech, a little in awe of how someone who had suffered so much could be so forgiving. Harry caught him looking, and Draco hurriedly looked away, clearing his throat.

"Anyway, if I want to leave, that's where I go. And I doubt any auror will want me visiting my Death Eater mother in St Mungo's. They'd probably take great pleasure in denying me that," he added, bitterly.

Harry pondered the problem for a moment, a reckless plan beginning to form in his mind.

"Well, why don't we just go now?"

"What?"

"You don't have a trace on you, do you?"

"No. The DMLE rely on updates from the Headmistress. No need for any tracking spells."

"Good. Perfect! Let's go!"

"Wait, Potter, I can't just go. What if I get caught? That's it! Forget about NEWTs, forget a career, I'll be stuck cleaning toilets for a living. The muggle way! If they don't throw me in prison. It would be a disaster-"

"Look, do you want to see your mother, or not?" Harry challenged, already on his feet.

"You know I do," Malfoy said, also standing up, "But it's not possible-"

"Not with that attitude," Harry smirked, quoting Draco's words of a few days ago back to him.

"If I get caught-"

"You won't. We have this," Harry said, waving the invisibility cloak.

"It's hardly big enough for two."

"How good are your disillusionment charms?"

"Rubbish."

"Then it'll have to do."

"But if I get caught..."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end.

"You know I hate to say this, I do, but if you get caught, it'll be with Harry Potter. And who is going to tell him that he can't visit a patient in a hospital whenever he damn well wants to?" Harry said, a long-suffering but determined look on his face.

Draco was dumbfounded. Harry hated using his name for special treatment, but the fact that he was willing to do it so that Draco could see his mother... that was truly a Christmas miracle.

"Harry, I... thank you," Draco said softly. Harry felt his stomach swoop, but tried to ignore it.

"You're more than welcome," he smiled. And it was back. That electric tension between the two of them. Both were keenly aware that they were about to break several school rules and fly in the face of restrictions imposed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And both were aware that this isn't something you would ordinarily do for 'just a friend'. But neither was game enough to say it out loud.

"Come on," Harry said, "If we go now, we can probably visit before they bring around breakfast. We can get in and out without anyone knowing."

"How do we get there?" Draco asked, half expecting the great Harry Potter to tell him that he could actually apparate from inside Hogwarts.

"Well, we could fly for a bit and then apparate when we get closer to London?" Harry suggested. "We don't have access to a portkey and the floo would let them know we're coming."

"Uh, okay," Draco said, nervous sweat suddenly breaking out on his brow. Harry noticed this straight away.

"You haven't flown since that night, have you?" he asked gently. Draco shook his head, unable to speak.

"Do you trust me?"

Draco nodded.

"Okay, well just hold on tight and you'll be fine, I promise," Harry said, grabbing his broom and stuffing the invisibility cloak inside a pocket. He mounted his broom and shuffled forward so there was room for Draco to sit behind him. The blond slowly came to stand behind Harry. Then, with a big sigh, he stepped over the broom and sat behind Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry's middle. Before Draco had a chance to change his mind, Harry kicked off, sending them both into the cold night air.

 

Draco could feel his breath leave his body at the sensation, and could feel the beginnings of a panic attack in his chest. Immediately after the war, he used to dream about the Room of Requirement and the fire. He'd frequently wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath and shaking all over.

He tightened his grip around Harry's waist, and buried his head into the back of Harry's neck. Harry felt bad for enjoying the feeling of Draco clinging to him, because he knew the boy must be terrified, but it felt bloody good after so many days of just looking to feel that body pressed up against his.

"It's okay, you're fine; we're okay," Harry said over his shoulder, hoping Draco could hear him over the soft whir of wind (Harry wasn't flying very fast yet). He kept up the small reassurances until he could feel Draco's ragged breathing slow down and his grip loosen ever so slightly. His face was still pressed into Harry's neck, though.

"All right, Draco?" He asked as they passed over Dufftown on their way south towards London.

"M ok," came the muffled response.

"Just close your eyes and think of England," Harry joked.

"You're enjoying this too much," Draco mumbled. "Hero Potter."

Harry just chuckled, then enjoyed the silence for a bit.

"You know, I had nightmares about it, too," he said over his shoulder, about half an hour into their journey.

"What?"

"About the fire. It took me months to get back on a broom. But one day I just thought 'fuck it - I'm not going to miss out on something I love because of the war' and so I just got back to it."

"Not that easy."

"No, I'm not saying it is. I'm just saying you'll get there too. Eventually. You've just always been slower than me," he added as a joke. He received a sharp pinch to the ribs as a response. He thought about doing a roll in the air to chastise Draco but decided against it - the poor boy was recovering from recent trauma.

"Listen, we're nearly at Edinburgh. We can land there, then apparate to London, yeah?"

He could feel Draco nodding into the back of his neck, so he started their descent into a clearing in a park. With shaky legs, Draco touched down, disentangled his arms (somewhat reluctantly) from Harry's waist, then fell to the ground in a graceful heap. Harry gave him a sympathetic smile. "It'll get easier."

Draco ignored this and just stared up at the sky. "I wonder what I'll say to her."

Harry was preoccupied, finding somewhere to store his broom. "Sorry, what?"

"I wonder what I'll say to mother," Draco repeated, propping himself up on his elbows. "I mean, we will turn up in the wee hours of the morning, wearing quidditch gear and bed clothes, hair not done, shoes - oh Merlin, I'm not even wearing shoes!"

"Draco, calm down-"

"And what do I say about you? I mean, I'm pretty sure she knows already. I never shut up about you. She probably knew before I did. Women's intuition or something ridiculous-"

"Oi! Calm down! We'll just pop in, check she's okay, wish her Merry Christmas, then leave. She won't notice your feet or your pyjamas, which are very cute by the way. And your hair looks perfect, as ever. So stop stressing and come here," Harry commanded, holding out his hand. Stunned into silence, and a little bit turned on my the bossiness, Draco took Harry's hand, thrilled by the little charge that ran between them. Then Harry turned on the spot and they were sucked into the uncomfortable sensation of apparating.

 

With a loud pop, they arrived out the front of a dilapidated old building in the centre of London. Thankfully it was probably only five in the morning, so commenters hadn't really started to flood the streets yet, though Harry did spot one or two shops offering twenty-four hour trading for Christmas. 

They made their way to the entrance of the hospital before Harry drew out the invisibility cloak.

"This'll be a little cramped, but once we're inside we can improvise, yeah?"

Without waiting for a response, he threw the cloak over the two of them, bending over slightly so that their feet were covered, and yanking Draco down so he was doing the same. In this awkward and shuffling position, they made their way through the main entrance and into the lobby. For the early morning, it was surprisingly busy. Healers and medi-witches were rushing this way and that, their lime-green cloaks swishing behind them. At this point, Harry had to grab Draco's hand so that they could dodge the foot traffic without giving themselves away.

 

They managed to successfully navigate past the welcome desk and into the lift with a pair of healers and a woman with saucepans for hands.

"It were all Bilius's fault," she was saying to the healer on her right. "If he hadn't started the row, we wouldn't have gotten so carried away, and chucked that potion-"

"Yes, Ma'am. Calmly does it, now, that's it," he said in a bored voice, as they exited on floor three for potion and plant poisoning.

"Right," Harry said, whipping off the cloak and pulling out his wand. "Let's just try to blend in, shall we?"

He silently transfigured their travelling cloaks into the lime-green colour with the wand and crossbones emblematic of the healers. Then he tapped his glasses and gave them a rectangular frame, magicked his hair into a small bun (because it was certainly long enough) and conjured a pair of shoes for Draco to wear. "I'd offer to disguise your face but it would be a shame to make any changes," he said, aware that he was now openly flirting. Draco's cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and he cast his eyes away, muttering something about 'bloody saviours'.

The doors pinged open allowing them out on to the comparatively empty fourth floor - spell damage.

"Do you know where they're keeping her, exactly?" Harry asked.

"Janus Thickey Ward," Draco said thickly. "It's the most secure for those who might be a danger to themselves..."

"Right," Harry replied, feeling awkward. Beyond getting Draco here, he didn't really have a plan. He didn't have any great desire to see Narcissa Malfoy, unless it was to tell her that she'd done the world a great favour by having Draco, and he felt that that might be a bit out of place, given that the last time he'd seen her she'd basically saved his life and the lives of countless others.

Figuring that a simple alohamora wouldn't work, Harry rummaged in his magically extended pockets for Sirius' penknife that opened any lock. He deftly opened the door to the ward and gestured for Draco to go in.

"I'll wait here," he said, "Take as long as you need."

Draco nodded then turned on shaky legs to visit his mother. He found her in the far corner of the room in a small bed, sectioned off by thin curtain. He was pleased to see she did have access to a window and there was a rather sad-looking piece of artwork hanging above her bed.

Better than Azkaban, he thought wryly.

Narcissa was lying on her back, white-blonde hair fanned out around her head like a halo, arms by her side and palms up as if in supplication. Draco would've said she looked peaceful if not for the crease between her brows and the thin line of her lips, pressed together in discomfort.

He reached out a hand to gently touch her shoulder - she was very cold.

"Mother?" he whispered.

Narcissa's eyes remained shut, but the frown became more pronounced.

"Mother, it's me," he repeated, giving her a slight shake.

"Draco?"

"Yes, it's me," Draco replied, his heart breaking a little at the way she said his name - it was as if she'd never allowed herself hope of seeing him again until that moment. She opened her eyes and so their reunion began.

"I've missed you so much, my darling," she said, sitting up and embracing her son. "It's been so long."

Draco wasn't even aware that his eyes were wet. "Did you get my letters?"

"No, they don't allow me any correspondence," she said, bitterly, withdrawing.

"Not at all?"

"No. The only contact I have is with my healer, who is efficient if brusque, my mind-healer Ethel, and the others in this ward. Auror Tomlinson checks in every week, but doesn't seem to care about anything other than your father. Which is ridiculous. What would I know if they don't let me send or accept letters?" she finished, angrily.

"I was right. I knew that you'd be mistreated here."

"No, no, no, it's fine, Draco, I don't want you to worry."

"Mother-"

"No, I won't have another word spoken on the matter. I am fine," she said, drawing herself up to look more commanding and more like her old self, Draco noted. Though she was quite frail- "Now, how is school?"

Draco knew better than to try to talk to his mother about her circumstances, so he decided to give her what she wanted. "School is fine. I'm still top in potions, even though Slughorn wishes otherwise."

"Revolting jellyfish of a man-"

"And I'm working hard in my other classes, too. Muggle Studies is actually quite interesting. For instance, did you know that British muggles actually get to vote for their parliamentary representatives?"

"Really?" Narcissa smiled (although she did, of course, know this, as her family had been rigging elections for centuries).

"Yes, it's all very informative."

"And what about your friends? How is Gregory?"

"Greg's okay. He went home for Christmas to see his mother, but he's struggling to stay focused in classes."

"Is that all? Any other friends - Blaise? Pansy?"

"We don't really talk much anymore," Draco said with a shrug, "Don't see eye to eye on many things."

"But you do have other friends, surely?"

"Well, yes..." Draco said, not sure how best to impart the news that he was chummy with a gang of Gryffindors. He was saved the trouble by Harry sticking his head through the curtain at that exact minute.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mrs Malfoy, but you've got about five minutes before they bring breakfast around. If we don't want to get caught, we really should get a move on."

"Hello, Mister Potter," Narcissa said, a look of realisation spreading across her features. "Draco didn't say you were visiting."

"Oh, more of an escort, really. We flew. Nice to see you again," he said with a nod of the head. "I'll try to stall them for a bit," he said to Draco, "but we should really get going soon, I'm sorry."

Then he withdrew and went to wait by the door of the ward.

Narcissa watched him leave before turning to face her son with an incredulous and somewhat amused look on her face. "You flew here with Harry Potter?"

"Yes. It was his idea. Not really supposed to leave the castle," Draco said, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. "He's a bad influence."

"Hmm, I can see that," Narcissa agreed, now openly smirking. "So am I to assume that you two are... friends?"

"Yes, friends. We are. In fact, I've befriended several Gryffindors this year," Draco said, willing his cheeks to go back to their normal colour. "They're not nearly as tedious as expected."

"But Harry is special?" Narcissa said, raising an eyebrow.

"I, well, yes. Of course. Saviour and all that," Draco stuttered, running his hand through his hair before realising that it was a mannerism he'd picked up from Harry.

"That's not what I meant, Draco."

"Mother-"

"Is it serious?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean-" Draco said, standing up and smoothing his cloak.

"Draco, darling," Narcissa said, adopting a less amused and more serious tone before reaching out and taking Draco's hand. "It's fine."

"Nothing has happened yet," Draco mumbled.

"But when it does..." Narcissa smiled.

"He's just..." Draco sighed. "He makes me feel, again. Like I can breathe, laugh, cry - it doesn't matter. He just accepts it. I don't understand it."

"You don't have to, my dear. Just... embrace it."

"I never thought it would be him, you know?"

Narcissa let out a delicate laugh, and in spite of his inner-turmoil, Draco couldn't help but be cheered by the sound. "Oh, you poor thing. I've seen this coming for years. Years of 'Potter this' and 'Harry that'-"

"I never called him Harry-"

"Not when you were awake," Narcissa said, smirking. "At any rate, whatever happens will happen. I'm sure Harry wouldn't have flown all the way to London at five in the morning for just anyone."

"No, I suppose not," Draco smiled.

"Now you should go. It wouldn't do for you to get caught out of school grounds."

"You're right, of course, but how can I leave? Now that I know they aren't treating you well?"

"They're doing what they can. Prejudice is an awful thing, Draco, I've seen it from both sides now. But you really mustn't worry about me. You've just given me the best gift I could've asked for."

"What's that?"

"Hope that my son will be happy," Narcissa smiled, "And that is all I need to survive this place."

Draco was torn - he really didn't think he should be leaving his mother like this, but at that moment Harry popped his head back in and announced that the breakfast cart was outside the ward.

"We'll have to use the cloak," he said, shoving the invisibility cloak at Draco. "Mrs Malfoy, lovely to see you again. Sorry to rush off," Harry apologised.

"Thank you for the visit," she smiled graciously, "And please, take good care of my son."

Harry felt his cheeks turn pink and he gave an awkward nod before ducking out of the curtain.

"Goodbye, mother," Draco said, feeling a lump start to form in his throat. Seeing her had made him miss her all the more, but her acceptance and support of something that hadn't even really happened yet - something that he very much wanted - meant the world to him.

"Goodbye, Draco."

 

And just like that it was over. The boys snuck out of the hospital undetected and apparated back to Edinburgh to retrieve Harry's broom. They didn't say much to one another on the flight back, but it could be said that Draco's grip around Harry's waist was less panicked, more affectionate, and that when he rested his head on Harry's shoulder blade they were both lucky that Harry managed to stay aloft, such was the violent swooping sensation in his stomach.

 

When they landed back at the quidditch pitch, Draco was the first to speak.

"Thank you, Harry. I really appreciate what you did for me tonight."

"It was nothing. I'm just glad we didn't get caught," Harry grinned.

"Yes, well. I'm never doing anything like that again, let's be clear. You're definitely a bad influence," Draco replied, mirroring Harry's grin. "I used to be a prefect, you know?"

"I vaguely recall that, yes," Harry replied. "You used to take house points from me as often as humanly possible."

"Ah, good times."

"You were a git."

"So were you, Potter."

"Well, Malfoy, it's a good thing we're past all that now, isn't it."

"And why's that, then?"

"Because if we weren't, I..." Harry trailed off, looking suddenly sheepish.

"You?"

Harry shook his head, his feeling of recklessness subsiding - now was not the time. "Never mind," he said, turning to head back to the castle.

"Harry!" Draco said, grabbing Harry's hand on instinct and tugging him back. Harry turned back to face Draco, looking slightly alarmed. "Thank you," Draco said very clearly as if he was speaking to someone quite slow. Then, without warning or reason, he leant in a pressed his lips to Harry's in a quick, chaste kiss. "Thank you," he whispered, looking at the ground, before turning on his heel and rushing back to the castle as if his life depended on it.

Harry stood, watching him go, utterly shocked.

His lips were tingling.


	12. December 23 (still)

Draco Malfoy was sure the whole thing had been a terrible, exhilarating dream. Fleeing the castle with Potter, his reunion with his mother, his kissing Potter on the quidditch field before legging it back to his dormitory like an embarrassed tween - all completely ridiculous!

Only he knew it had happened, because he was still wearing his travelling cloak, shoes transfigured out of Merlin knows what, and his lips felt as though they had been jinxed they were tingling that much.

He'd gone straight to bed when they'd arrived back at Hogwarts, more out of the need to hide his face than anything else, because he was sure that to a casual observer his expression would give away the fact that he'd just kissed the great Harry Potter.

Bollocks! He was going to play it cool, wait for Harry to show definitive interest, and then put the moves on him _properly_. And, boy, did Draco have moves. When he wanted to impress someone, he went all out - candlelit dinners, gifts, shoulder rubs, and the list goes on. But now he'd stuffed it all up. Once again, he'd shown his hand and left himself wide open to disappointment. Of course, he was fairly certain that the Gryffindor was interested. His mother was right - what sort of friend would fly halfway across the country to help out another? Then again, maybe the rules of friendship were different in Gryffindor house? Why hadn't he considered that?

Draco knew he was just going to think himself into an anxious wreck, so he did what any intelligent, rational potioneer would do - he took a sleeping draught and whiled the day away drooling and dreaming about Harry Potter.

***

Meanwhile, Harry was in quite a state. It wasn't much before seven in the morning by the time he made it back to his own dormitory and he felt about as far from sleep as ever. This was in spite of the fact that he'd been up all night. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened.

He'd broken school rules (not that that was anything new for him) and flown someone supposedly in the care of aurors to visit his mother in hospital, before being kissed by said boy on the quidditch pitch. It was all rather a lot to take in.

 

Harry's Dream Diary:

_So he kissed me._

_That's new._

_I don't even know what to write. I've never felt this way before. Not about Cho or Ginny or anyone, really. I wanted to get to know him and when I did, I just felt like we clicked. He's intelligent, nasty, funny, complicated, prickly, affectionate, compassionate... I just feel like there's so much more to find out and I'm really looking forward to it._

_And I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to hold his hand, I wanted to kiss him, hold him... But I didn't have the guts to do anything. I choked. Flirting is one thing but actually doing something about it is quite another._

_He kissed me._

_Now I think I'm more confused than ever. Was it a thank-you kiss? Or was it a pity kiss? Could he see that I was interested and want to let me down gently? Or was it a genuine, I'm-into-you-as-more-than-a-friend kiss?_

_I really hope it's the last one, but until he does it again I can't be sure. And I need to be sure._

***

"Harry, I really do think you're reading too much into this," Hermione said patiently.

"She's right," Ron said through a mouthful of toast.

The three of them were sitting in the kitchens (and, no, Harry wasn't hoping to run into Draco like he had previously, absolutely not…) and Harry was filling them in on the events of the early morning.

"No, but what if I'm interpreting it wrong? What if he was just thanking me? He said it about three times!"

"Friends don't thank friends by kissing them on the mouth," Ron said, looking at Harry as if he were a little bit slow.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Why are you so reluctant to think that he might genuinely be interested?" Hermione asked.

"He doesn't want to make a massive prat of himself, I reckon," Ron muttered, earning him a slap on the arm from his girlfriend.

"No, Ron's right. I don't want to make a massive prat of myself," Harry agreed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry! Anyone with eyes can see that he likes you. You're always spending time together and talking together - it's a wonder you don't finish each other’s sentences! You've both been obsessed with each other for years. It's obvious! We've all seen this coming, so if you two would like to hurry up and get your act together, the rest of us would appreciate it very much!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up. Ron peered at her from the corner of his eye with a frown.

"All right, Hermione?"

"It's just frustrating, Ron. People waste so much time worrying about really stupid things. We should spend our time worrying about reconstruction after the war, or what to do with the orphans and widows and wounded. Instead, we're sat here listening to Harry moan about how he's not sure if Malfoy likes him or not. Harry, there are bigger things than you and Malfoy." And with that, she upped and left the room, leaving the two boys utterly perplexed.

"You reckon something's bothering her?" Ron asked.

"Yeah."

"I should probably follow her, hey?" Ron said, nodding to himself and getting up.

"Ron?"

"Yeah, Harry."

"I'm sorry for all this. I'm being pathetic, I know."

Ron walked back and put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Yes, you are. But you're allowed to be confused. It's Malfoy."

Harry was appalled to feel his eyes begin to water with gratitude - he was so lucky to have a friend like Ronald Weasley.

"Tell Hermione I'm sorry, too," he said.

"No worries mate. And, for what it's worth, I think you should just go for it with Malfoy. He'd be lucky to have you." With that awkward yet heartfelt declaration, Ron left Harry alone.

***

Harry had resolved to stop being a wuss and do something about the Draco situation. So he got out his quill and penned a short(ish) message to the boy:

_Draco,_

_I don't quite know what to say. I know it was hard for you to see your mother like that this morning but I hope that speaking to her has made you feel a bit better. The adventure part was fun, though - the flying and disguise. And sharing a broom like that was very enjoyable for me (awkward flirting – am I doing it right?)._

_There's no point in putting this off anymore because (obviously) I keep botching it and making an idiot of myself. And idiots aren't attractive._

_Here goes nothing…_

_I like you._

_I mean, I find you attractive and I enjoy spending time with you._

_When we’re together it’s easy to forget about all the other crap that’s going on in the world and just have fun._

_I never thought I’d be saying this to you of all people (no offence, but I’m sure you would agree) but I fancy the pants off you. And I’m really annoyed that you kissed me before I could kiss you, because maybe if I’d gone first then you wouldn’t have run away like the idiot that you were this morning, and maybe we could’ve…_

_Anyway, I’d very much like to kiss you again, if at all possible. And maybe when I’m expecting it, so that I don’t just stand there like I’ve been stunned, and you get the wrong idea and run off._

_I’m so embarrassed writing this all down. I want to say this letter will self destruct after you read it so you can’t use it for blackmail, but that spell was too complicated and I don’t think Hermione’s in the mood to help me right now. I’m pretty sure you feel the same way but if you don’t, please feel free to burn this letter and forget any of this actually happened._

_Actually, no, screw that. If you don’t feel the same way – and by that I mean butterflies in the stomach, excessive blushing, inexplicable attraction, etc – then come and tell me to my face. And give me a chance to change your mind._

_This letter is now longer than my charms essay – how ridiculous! I do hope you realise that I’ve officially gone insane and it’s all your fault._

_Please reply when you’ve read this. I need to know where you stand either way._

_Harry_

***

It took until that evening for Draco to reply. Not because he was embarrassed or indecisive, but because he was very good at sleeping draughts.

***

_Harry,_

_Meet me at the Room of Requirement at midnight._

_Draco_


	13. December 24

The seventh-floor corridor was – predictably – utterly deserted when Harry slipped off his invisibility cloak and stood opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. It was five minutes to midnight and he had wanted to give himself a few minutes to compose himself before opening the as-yet-unrevealed door to his future.  
  
He nervously ran a hand through his hair, despite the fact that this would only make it stand up on end even more, and ran his tongue over his teeth to check they were clean. He really was very nervous.  
  
Rolling his shoulders back, and being sure to stand up straight, Harry walked past the blank space of wall three times thinking one thought: I wish to spend time with Draco Malfoy.  
  
The door materialised and Harry pushed it open, walking through into a cosy room with a dark blue couch in front of a roaring fire. There was a small coffee table between the two, supporting several different bottles and a few plates of food. To the near side of the room was a stylishly decorated Christmas tree, and on the far side was one very attractive Draco Malfoy.  
  
Harry had to take a moment to consciously close his mouth, which he’d realised was agape after looking at Draco. Draco who looked literally mouth-watering in a pair of tailored black trousers and a light grey polo-neck sweater, one hand shoved in a pocket, the other splayed on the edge of the couch. On Harry’s entrance, he stiffened slightly, clearly also very nervous and trying hard not to let it show.  
  
“Er, hi?” Harry said, immediately hating himself for sounding like an idiot.  
  
“Did you mean what you said?” Draco asked.  
  
“Which bit?” Harry said, grateful that they were going to get straight to the matter at hand.  
  
“That you’d like to kiss me again.”  
  
“I meant all of it,” Harry said, trying to sound self-assured and in control when his stomach was doing all sorts of acrobatics.  
  
Draco gave a small shrug, “Then what are you waiting for?”  
  
Harry felt a thrill go through him at the thought that Draco wanted to kiss him and started across the room, but stopped within two steps of the other boy. “Hang on a minute. I’m not just going to come in here and kiss you just because you suggested it,” he said with a frown.  
  
Draco felt panic grip his insides – had he been wrong about Harry? Had that letter been a hoax by one of his idiot friends?  
  
He raised his chin slightly, trying for some of the old Malfoy imperiousness. “And why not?”  
  
“I’ll tell you why not,” Harry said, frown deepening, “I poured my heart and soul into that letter and all I get from you is ‘what are you waiting for?’ How is that fair?”  
  
“Why do things have to be fair?”  
  
Harry sighed and Draco hated the pitying look he was being given at that moment.  
  
“In relationships things can’t be one-sided. There has to be give and take,” Harry said.  
  
“Who said anything about relationships?” Draco said, folding his hands across his chest. “Maybe all I want is a bit of snogging in a broom cupboard now and then.”  
  
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated. Why was Draco being so difficult and cagey about this? After all, he had been the one to kiss Harry in the first place.  
  
“If all you want is a bit of snogging, then I’ll be going.” Harry turned and started to make his way to the door.  
  
“Wait-“  
  
“No, Malfoy. I won’t wait. I’m not here for you to play mind games with. I fucking fancy the hell out of you and that scares me. I didn’t even know I could be interested in men, let alone you, but here we are. And if you just want to tease me or lead me on, I’m not going to put up with it.”  
  
Draco was taken aback by the honesty, but was a little bit pleased to have Harry get cross with him – it reminded him of their old arguments and gave him a tingle of nostalgia for simpler times.  
  
"I don't want to lead you on."  
  
"Then what do you want?"  
  
“I... I don't know how to say it."  
  
Harry sighed heavily. "Why did I have to fancy someone so melodramatic?"  
  
"It's hardly my fault," Draco bristled, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry withdrew his hand from the doorknob and walked back over to the couch, cautiously sitting down on the end furthest from Draco.  
  
"Look, I don't want to keep putting myself out there if I'm going to get rejected. I basically just came out to you, my childhood nemesis, and I'm on tenterhooks waiting to see if it will be the inspiration for the Potter Stinks badges 2.0 or if it will lead to one of the best things in my life. Please, sit down and just tell me why you - Draco bloody Malfoy - can't say what you really want to."  
  
There was a pause as Draco considered how best to phrase what was on his mind.  
  
"How long would you say we've known each other?" he asked.  
  
"Eight years, give or take," Harry shrugged. "Why?"  
  
"And how much of that have we spent at each others' throats?"  
  
"All of it, I guess."  
  
Draco sighed, and ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, leaving it messy and - if you asked Harry - irresistible. "I like you, Harry, and I have done for a lot longer than you think. And I covered it up with insults and hexes and generally being an arse. And I just worry that this-" he gestured between them, "wouldn't mean as much to you as it would to me."  
  
"Of course it would-"  
  
"I've fancied you since fourth year, ok?"  
  
Harry was understandably taken aback by this - that was much earlier than he'd expected. And, to be fair, Draco was right - Harry hadn't developed any sort of interest (acknowledged or otherwise) until sixth year.  
  
"It was during the Triwizard Tournament. At first I was jealous of all the attention you were getting, yet again. But then you fucking outflew a dragon and you were so... And after that was the Yule Ball, and you were wearing those ridiculous robes-"

"Ron's were worse," Harry muttered.

"And I just remember having this awful feeling that nothing could ever come of it. So I looked elsewhere. But there's only so many black-haired, lanky boys at this school, and it's only so long you can go around snogging them before you realise they can't compensate for the real thing."

"Draco, I had no idea."

"Four, five years? That's a long time to be... obsessed with somebody. And I've built this up in my head so much...I've lost sleep over it. I can't concentrate and I just... I don't want to get hurt, ok?" He said, voice so quiet Harry had to strain to hear him.  
  
"That's why you're trying so hard to be casual about this? So that you can hurt me before I hurt you?" Harry said, eyebrow raised in a mixture of confusion and disdain, surprised by the sudden anger he felt after such a heartfelt confession.  
  
"No, that's not what I meant."  
  
"Yes it is. You're worried I'm not as keen as you are, so you're trying to pretend it doesn't mean anything to you so that if it does go tits-up you don't lose face," he said angrily, standing up as if to leave.  
  
"It's not about that! I've changed. You _know_ I've changed. It's not about my stupid reputation or my damned family name - I don't care about any of that anymore. I just... No one has ever shown the slightest interest in me for who I am. I don't want to get invested in case it doesn't last."  
  
Harry sighed, sitting back down on the couch, this time a bit closer to Malfoy. He'd forgotten that Draco's life hadn't been as carefree and loving as he'd have liked everyone to believe. The boy put up a good facade, that was clear, but Harry had glimpsed the real Draco often enough over the past month to realise he was telling the truth.  
  
Harry gently placed his hand on Draco's knee, feeling rather than hearing his sharp intake of breath.  
  
"How long would you say we've known each other?"  
  
"Eight years, give or take."  
  
"And how much of that do you think I've spent thinking about you?"  
  
"I have no idea, but I'm sure not as much as I've spent thinking about you," Draco replied glumly.  
  
"Maybe not, but that doesn't mean my feelings are any less strong than yours, or that I'm less breakable than you," Harry said softly.  
  
"I think the fact that you've literally come back from the dead shows that you are pretty much unbreakable," Draco replied, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Very funny," Harry deadpanned.  
  
"I am, though."  
  
"I just mean that whatever this is-" he gestured between them, mimicking Draco's earlier actions, "It's important to me too. And scary. And bizarre... But it's important. And I don't want it to fail before it's even had a chance to start, just because one of us was too scared to do anything about it."  
  
Attempting bravado, Draco scoffed "I'm not too scared-"  
  
But he was cut off by Harry's lips pressing firmly against his own. Harry's lips were softer than Draco remembered them being the previous night, and he felt a thrill run through him at the thought that this time it was Harry initiating contact. It was finally Harry who'd kissed him!  
  
He realised suddenly that in his shock, he'd let his arms hang limp by his side. He rectified that, reaching around to tentatively place one hand on Harry's shoulder to draw him slightly closer, and the other on his thigh.  
  
And though Harry's lips were deliciously soft and sweet, Draco wanted more, so he focused his attention on sucking and nibbling at Harry's bottom lip, earning a surprised gasp from Harry. Draco grinned - he was absolutely certain that he would never get sick of hearing that sound.  
  
With a herculean amount of effort, Harry pulled back slightly to look Draco in the eye.  
  
"Does this mean you want to give us a go, then?"  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "You make it sound so official."  
  
"Draco..." Harry said warningly.  
  
"Okay, yes, I am. Let's give it a go. Just don't be such a Hufflepuff about it."  
  
"Admit that you want more than just someone to make out with in broom cupboards."  
  
"Yes, Harry, I want something more than snogging, but can we please get back to it? I've literally waited years for this."  
  
Harry grinned, satisfied that Draco was genuine (if completely emotionally unstable and a bit of a romantic wreck). Time would only tell how things would play out, but for now he was content to kiss and touch and breathe Draco in.  
  
As he leaned in to reclaim Draco's lips with his own, Harry couldn't help but smile at the thought that this was by far the best Christmas Eve that he had ever experienced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be one or maybe two more chapters after this. It was supposed to be a Christmas fic so thanks to everyone who has stuck around. I know it's March now so I'm a little behind schedule but it's so much fun to write, I don't want to leave these characters behind :(


	14. December 25

Christmas day dawned cold and crisp over Hogwarts castle. The majority of students who'd chosen to remain at the school over Christmas were tucked up snugly under their blankets while piles of presents magically appeared (thanks to the house elves) at the foot of each of their beds.  
  
Ron and Hermione, however, had both risen early and were sharing the sofa in front of the flickering fire in the eight year common room, Hermione with her head in Ron's lap. Ron had wanted to open his presents, and Hermione had been worrying about Harry to the point where she figured she may as well just get up.  
  
"What if he breaks Harry's heart?" She frowned, while Ron patiently stroked her hair. "I know he's changed and all that, but he's still... you know?"  
  
"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Ron said, stifling a yawn. "He's as obsessed as Harry is. Ego aside, I don't think he'd want to jeopardise his chances with the Chosen One."  
  
"You really are being ridiculously mature about this whole thing," Hermione noted, sitting up so she could be shoulder to shoulder with her boyfriend.  
  
"Always the tone of surprise," Ron grinned. Hermione smiled back and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Ron's mouth.  
  
After a moment she frowned again. "Really, though, it's nearly six thirty in the morning. What could possibly be taking so long?"  
  
As if on cue, the portrait hole swung open to admit two very dishevelled looking young men. Harry's hair was wilder than usual, his shirt untucked on one side, and his glasses askew. Draco's hair was similarly rumpled, his neck was covered in a series of pink and red blotches, and he had his shoes in one hand, and Harry's hand in the other. After taking two steps into the room, they realised that they were not, in fact, alone, and Ron wished he could've photographed the moment when this happened. It was comical how quickly their smiles evaporated, their hands dropped and Malfoy sprung to one side as if electrocuted.  
  
"I take it everything went well, then?" Ron grinned, as Hermione violently elbowed him in the side.  
  
Harry's hand immediately went to his hair, and Malfoy tried to tug his polo neck high enough to cover all his hickeys but to no avail. "Err," Harry said, not very helpfully. He had obviously planned on telling his friends, but not while he was still in his happy post-snogged/nearly-shagged state. His brain couldn't function right now - it had been short-circuited by pleasure.  
  
Ron was very much enjoying watching Malfoy try to recover his composure, even though he knew he shouldn't be laughing at interrupting what had undoubtedly been a private moment.  
  
"I think what Ronald is trying to say is congratulations," Hermione interjected. "We are very happy for you both, and can keep this a secret, if you like, for now."  
  
"Thanks?" Harry said.  
  
"I think what _Hermione_ is trying to say is if you're not ready to come out to the rest of the school yet, we won't tell, but that you might want to tidy yourselves up before some keen bean firsties come downstairs to open presents and see their hero in flagrante with his male lover," Ron grinned.  
  
Draco shot a cold glare at him, which just made Ron smile more broadly.  
  
"I would like to make it clear that I have no intention of hiding what Harry and I have from the rest of the school," Draco said, raising his chin slightly.  
  
Harry felt a thrill run through him - they'd not actually gotten around to discussing the finer points of their courtship yet, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for the media storm that would inevitably follow. "Chosen One Chooses Death Eater" could be one potential headline. "War Sends Hero Harry Homo" was another.  
  
His fear of a smear campaign, however, was not enough to stop him from wanting to shout his feelings from the rooftops, and he smiled at Draco. "Really?"  
  
"Really," Draco replied, taking Harry's hand again and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I've spent too long denying how I feel about you."  
  
Ron cleared his throat loudly to remind them that they were not alone.  
  
"Harry, we really are happy for you and Draco," Hermione said. "But Draco-"  
  
"If you hurt Harry, we will kill you and make it look like an accident," Ron finished, not a hint of a joke in his tone.  
  
"No pressure then," Draco said awkwardly.  
  
"Guys-" Harry said.  
  
"Seriously, though. If you fuck around with Harry's feelings-" Ron began.  
  
Draco held up his hand. "Please, I know. And let me assure you that I have no intention of doing any such thing. And if I do hurt him, I will personally feed myself to the giant squid."  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced.  
  
"You know you don't have to feed yourself to the giant squid, right?" Harry asked.  
  
Draco sighed.  
  
"Harry, I've spent long enough tormenting you and your friends because I didn't know how to deal with how I felt about you. And now that this has happened, I can't imagine going back to how things were. So if I am ever stupid enough to hurt you, then I deserve to be a cephalopod's dinner."  
  
"That's actually quite sweet," Hermione said, reminding the boys again that they weren't alone.  
  
"And what if I hurt you?" Harry asked, genuinely worried.  
  
"You won't."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"You're Harry," Draco shrugged. "I just know."  
  
"Okay, enough of that," Ron interrupted, because as happy as he was for his best friend, he wasn't sure he was quite ready to see him snog Malfoy. "It's Christmas, and I didn't get up this early to wait for hours to open presents."  
  
Harry laughed - he was glad that some things never changed.  
  
Hermione silently _accio_ -ed their small piles of presents down from their bedrooms and the four of them sat on the dark green rug in front of the hearth.  
  
Harry had received the traditional Weasley jumper and Wheezes from his family, a 'magic' 8 ball from Ron ("To help you make quicker decisions") and a book on advanced defensive magic ("Just in case") from Hermione. He'd given Ron a new broomstick servicing kit and keeper's helmet that they'd seen in Diagon Alley over the break, and gifted Hermione some muggle highlighters ("For your study schedule") and a book on mindfulness ("So exams don't send you batty - my idea" according to Ron).  
  
Draco had watched this interaction with amusement and a hint of sadness. This, right here, was one of the things that he'd envied so much during their time at Hogwarts - Harry's friendship with Ron and Hermione. They were all so close. He hoped that one day he'd be able to join in with the banter and inside jokes, and become part of their strange little family. This was a thought that surprised him, but instead of rolling his eyes at himself and dismissing it, he decided that he was right. It was Christmas and there was no more war, and he was in love with an exceptionally gifted kisser. He could allow himself to be a little sappy from time to time.  
  
"Aren't you going to open your presents?" Ron said to Draco, mouth full of drooble's finest.  
  
"Ron, don't be rude!" Hermione admonished.  
  
Draco didn't have a very large pile of gifts. In fact, there were only three things in his pile. He recognised the handwriting of his family's house-elf on one parcel, presumably sending him something on behalf of his hospital-bound mother. Probably sweets. The other packages appeared to be from Goyle and Pansy. Likely a journal from Goyle (a tradition since fourth year, when Draco had very much needed to write down his thoughts) and a photo of Pansy (she was nothing if not persistent... and vain).  
  
"I suppose," Draco said, then proving all his suspicions correct. He offered some of the Belgian chocolates from his mother around, and Harry chose the one that looked like a seahorse. Draco found this oddly quaint.  
  
There was a brief lull in conversation after the presents had been opened, but then with a loud pop, a new present landed in front of each of them.  
  
"What the?"  
  
"These must be our Kris Kringle gifts," Hermione said, picking up the small purple package that had appeared in front of her.  
  
"Cool!" Ron cried, already having opened his gift - it was a red t-shirt with 'Weasley is our King' printed on it.  
  
Draco snorted - he'd never intended for that slogan to be a positive one but he was glad that it had all worked out and was now water under the bridge.  
  
Hermione received a nail care kit, complete with emery boards, nail polish and hand cream. It was a sweet gift, she decided, and not at all a comment on the state of her much chewed nails.  
  
Harry had been given an unauthorised biography of himself and some shop-bought shortbread, so at least half of it was decent.  
  
When Draco came to unwrap his KK, he found three pairs of eyes staring intently at him. "What?"  
  
"We just want to know what you got," Ron said, slightly unconvincingly. Draco frowned, "Okay..."  
  
Draco ran his fingernail under the tape and peeled it off (unsurprisingly he was the sort of person who never ripped the paper), unfolding the dark blue wrapping paper to reveal three items, which in his opinion was going slightly overboard.

On top was a pair of dark green cashmere gloves - perfect for keeping his permanently cold hands warm. Then there was a 70% cocoa dark chocolate bar from Honeydukes - his favourite. And beneath those gifts was a thick, leather-bound book, proclaiming to be an anthology of the romantic classics: Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and Madam Bovary - perfect for satisfying his inner (muggle) bookworm.  
  
Draco felt as though he'd been winded and was shocked to find his eyes watering. This was probably the most thoughtful gift he'd ever been given, and though he had an idea of who had given it to him, he could only hope that he was right because it was an undoubtedly romantic gesture.  
  
"There's a note as well," Harry said quietly, confirming Draco's suspicions.  
  
Avoiding eye contact, Draco picked up the note and read it to himself.  
  
_Dear Draco,_  
  
_Merry Christmas._  
  
_Obviously the point of Kris Kringle is to remain anonymous, so I won't tell you who I am. I hope that by now, though, I've told you how I feel and you will be sitting next to me as you open this._  
  
_I never thought I would be as grateful to the Sorting Hat as I was the day it gave me the option of joining Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, and when I drew your name out for KK I was not best pleased. But now I am so thankful, because it forced me to get to know you - the real you - and I'm just annoyed at myself for not doing it sooner._  
  
_You are so much kinder and more wonderful than you give yourself credit for. You've been a good friend to Goyle, you've opened yourself up to new friendships and made an effort with Gryffindors of all people, you've been an incredibly patient tutor... And all the while looking bloody amazing in those should-be-illegal-they're-so-tight trousers._  
  
_I digress. The gloves are for your stupidly cold hands (when I'm not around to warm them up myself), the chocolate is there in case of emergency, and the book is there because even though you won't admit it, you're a sucker for romance._  
  
_I've also written to the Minister of Magic and the head of the DMLE about your mother. I know you'll think I'm going overboard or whatever, but I also know that you think I should use my name to its fullest advantage more often, so I am. I've asked about the charges brought against your mother, and about your own auror guard, and the Minister has promised me that he'll look into it. I don't know if it'll come to anything, but if it doesn't then I'm happy to sneak you out of Hogwarts as often as necessary to visit. No one should be kept apart from their family._  
  
_And now I've probably given myself away, but I don't care about that. If I've made a complete tit of myself and we aren't what I hope we are, then that's that and there's nothing I can do about it._  
  
_But if we are what I hope we are, then I just want to say that I care very deeply for you and wish you the best of Christmases this year, and promise you even better Christmases to come._  
  
_Sincerely yours,_  
  
_Kris Kringle._  
  
When Draco looked up from the note (or letter, really) it was to see Harry looking at him expectantly. Hermione and Ron had tactfully retreated to an armchair by the window, giving them some space.  
  
He could feel his cheeks and tips of his ears turning red, and noted absently that his eyesight was slightly blurry, but he was too focused on the fluttering sensation in his chest and those green eyes that were staring into his with such intensity.  
  
In less than a month, he'd gone from lusting after Harry from afar to being one of his closest friends and, now, even more than that. Harry had gone from hating him to 'caring deeply' for him in, what, twenty-four days? It was insane!  
  
And yet, Draco smiled to himself, it seemed to make perfect sense.  
  
"Thank you, Harry," Draco said, wiping impatiently at his left eye which appeared to have developed a leak.  
  
"You're welcome," Harry smiled.  
  
"I don't think anyone has ever put that much thought into a present before."  
  
Harry allowed himself a brief moment to feel proud that his presents had hit the mark, ignoring the sadness he felt that Draco had very few people left to put thought into gifts for him.  
  
"Well, I was initially stalking you to get ideas, so you're probably right," he said, trying to bring a bit of levity to a very emotionally intense conversation.  
  
"That's why you kept following me! It all makes sense now," Draco joked, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face.  
  
"Yes, well, I was stuck. I didn't know you, not really. I just made a lot of assumptions, most of which were wrong."  
  
"Harry Potter admitting he was wrong? Is this another gift or a Christmas miracle?"  
  
"I regret nothing," Harry said, ignoring the jibe. "This whole thing brought us together, and I couldn't be more pleased with how things turned out, to be honest."  
  
"Neither could I," Draco said, reaching out and taking Harry's hand in his. "Surprised, but pleased."  
  
"You're surprised? I didn't even really know I fancied blokes until you... opened my eyes to the possibility."  
  
"There are plenty more possibilities I could open your eyes to," Draco all but purred. Now it was Harry's turn to blush. Draco chuckled, causing Harry's blush to deepen. "You really are adorable when you don't know how to respond to basic flirting."  
  
Harry took this as a challenge, "oh really?"  
  
Draco realised his mistake a second too late, as Harry sprung into his lap - straddling him, no less - and enthusiastically locked lips with the surprised Slytherin. Harry threaded his fingers through Draco's hair, tugging slightly, while he ground his hips down against Draco. Draco moaned, his hands coming up to grip Harry's shoulders, then travelling slowly down his back.  
  
Harry pulled back suddenly, with a victorious smirk. "You were saying?"  
  
"You're an arse."  
  
"You like my ass," Harry quipped, forcing Draco to smile in return.  
  
"You really are a remarkable person, Harry," Draco said softly, the slightly more serious mood returning. "Thank you for forgiving me, giving me a chance-"  
  
"There's nothing to be forgiven. Not anymore. I should be thanking you, probably. For making me realise what I was missing. What I wanted.. needed."  
  
"I need you to promise me something," Draco said.  
  
"Anything," was Harry's immediate response.  
  
"That every year, at Christmas, you remind me to send a card and thank you letter to McGonagall for organising this stupid KK, without which we might not be here."  
  
Harry laughed. "Done. And you have to promise me to try to make this work. No backing out now, okay? It's too late."  
  
"I couldn't even if I wanted to," Draco said, reaching up and tucking a stray strand of hair behind Harry's ear, the gesture intimate and sweet as if they'd been together for years. "How long have we known each other?"  
  
"Eight years, give or take," Harry whispered.  
  
"Let's see if we can beat that record," Draco smiled, leaning in to kiss Harry once more.

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the wonderful humans who stuck around and waited for me to finish what was supposed to be a quick and fluffy Christmas fic (as it's now March!) - I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> It did get a bit lovey-dovey towards the end but oh well, Draco and Harry bring out the sappy romantic in me. 
> 
> Please leave a review if you have time :) if not, never mind! Have a lovely day!


End file.
